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LONESOME  LAND 


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As  he  raced  over  the  uneven  prairie  he  fumbled  with  the 
saddle  string.     Frontispiece.     See  Page  83. 


LONESOME  LAND 


BY 

B.  M.  BOWER  .^^ 

Author  of  "Chip,  of  the  Flying  C//'  etc. 


■%^ 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 
STANLEY   L.  WOOD 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright  y  1911^  1912, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


All  rights  reserved 

Published,  February,  1912 
Reprinted  February,  1912  (three  times) 


THE  UKIVIHSmr  PHESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


Contents 


Chafteb  Page 

I  The  Arrival  op  Val 1 

II  Well-meant  Advice 17 

III  A  Lady  in  a  Temper 32 

IV  The  "Shivaree^' 43 

V  Cold  Spring  Ranch .  59 

VI  Manley's  Fire  Guard  .......  73 

VII  Val's  New  Duties 87 

VIII  The  Prairie  Fire 101 

IX  Kent  to  the  Rescue 116 

X  Desolation 132 

XI  Val's  Awakening 149 

XII  A  Lesson  in  Forgiveness 164 

XIII  Arline  Gives  a  Dance 179 

XIV  A  Wedding  Present 197 

XV  A  Compact 205 

XVI  Manley's  New  Tactics 223 

XVII  Val  Becomes  an  Author 228 


M35851 


vi  CONTENTS 

Chapter  Page 

XVIII  Val's  Discovery 239 

XIX  Kent's  Confession 251 

XX  A  Blotched  Brand 271 

XXI  Val  Decides 276 

XXII  A  Friend  in  Need 287 

XXIII  Caught! 301 

XXIV  Retribution     .     .     .     , 315 


List  of  Illustrations 


As  he  raced  over  the  uneven  prairie  he  fumbled 

with  the  saddle  string Frontispiece 

He  was  jeered  unmercifully  by  Fred  De  Garmo 

and  his  crowd Page     50 

"  Little  woman,  listen  here,"  he  said.     "  You  're 

playing  hard  luck,  and  I  know  it"      .     .     .  "      214 

To  draw  the  red  hot  spur  across  the  fresh  VP 

did  not  take  long        ''274 


Lonesome  Land 

CHAPTER  I  ,/r.::  v. 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF  VAL ,    :'\\,AV 

IN  northern  Montana  there  lies  a  great,  lonely  stretch 
of  prairie  land,  gashed  deep  where  flows  the  Missouri. 
Indeed,  there  are  many  such  —  big,  impassive,  impressive 
in  their  very  loneliness,  in  summer  given  over  to  the  winds 
and  the  meadow  larks  and  to  the  shadows  fleeing  always 
over  the  hilltops.  Wild  range  cattle  feed  there  and  grow 
sleek  and  fat  for  the  fall  shipping  of  beef.  At  night  the 
coyotes  yap  quaveringly  and  prowl  abroad  after  the  long- 
eared  jack  rabbits,  which  bounce  away  at  their  hunger- 
driven  approach.  In  winter  it  is  not  good  to  be  there; 
even  the  beasts  shrink  then  from  the  bleak,  level  reaches, 
and  shun  the  still  bleaker  heights. 

But  men  will  live  anywhere  if  by  so  doing  there  is 
money  to  be  gained,  and  so  a  town  snuggled  up  against 
the  northern  rim  of  the  bench  land,  where  the  bleakness 
was  softened  a  bit  by  the  sheltering  hills,  and  a  willow- 
fringed  creek  with  wild  rosebushes  and   chokecherries 


2  LONESOME    LAND 

made  a  vivid  green  background  for  the  meager  huddle 
of  little,  unpainted  buildings. 

To  the  passengers  on  the  through  trains  which  watered 
at  the  red  tank  near  the  creek,  the  place  looked  crudely 
picturesque  —  interesting,  so  long  as  one  was  not  com- 
pelled to  live  there  and  could  retain  a  perfectly  impersonal 
viewpoint.  After  five  or  ten  minutes  spent  in  watching 
c  urously  the  one :  little  street,  with  the  long  hitching 
poles  planted  firmly  and  frequently  down  both  sides  — 
usually  within  a  very  few  steps  of  a  saloon  door  —  and 
the  horses  nodding  and  stamping  at  the  flies,  and  the 
loitering  figures  that  appeared  now  and  then  in  desultory 
fashion,  many  of  them  imagined  that  they  understood 
the  West  and  sympathized  with  it,  and  appreciated  its 
bigness  and  its  freedom  from  conventions. 

One  slim  young  woman  had  just  told  the  thin-faced 
school  teacher  on  a  vacation,  with  whom  she  had  formed 
one  of  those  evanescent  traveling  acquaintances,  that 
she  already  knew  the  West,  from  instinct  and  from  Man- 
ley's  letters.  She  loved  it,  she  said,  because  Manley 
loved  it,  and  because  it  was  to  be  her  home,  and  because 
it  was  so  big  and  so  free.  Out  here  one  could  think  and 
grow  and  really  live,  she  declared,  with  enthusiasm. 
Manley  had  lived  here  for  three  years,  and  his  letters, 
she  told  the  thin-faced  teacher,  were  an  education  in 
themselves. 


THE    ARRIVAL    OF    VAL  3 

The  teacher  had  already  learned  that  the  slim  young 
woman,  with  the  yellow-brown  hair  and  yellow-brown 
eyes  to  match,  was  going  to  marry  Manley  —  she  had 
forgotten  his  other  name,  though  the  young  woman  had 
mentioned  it  —  and  would  live  on  a  ranch,  a  cattle  ranch. 
She  smiled  with  somewhat  wistful  sympathy,  and  hoped 
the  young  woman  would  be  happy;  and  the  young  woman 
waved  her  hand,  with  the  glove  only  half  pulled  on, 
toward  the  shadow-dappled  prairie  and  the  willow-fringed 
creek,  and  the  hills  beyond. 

"Happy!"  she  echoed  joyously.  "Could  one  be  any- 
thing else,  in  such  a  country?  And  then  —  you  don't 
know  Manley,  you  see.  It 's  horribly  bad  form,  and 
undignified  and  all  that,  to  prate  of  one's  private  affairs, 
but  I  just  can't  help  bubbling  over.  I  'm  not  looking  for 
heaven,  and  I  expect  to  have  plenty  of  bumpy  places  in 
the  trail  —  trail  is  anything  that  you  travel  over,  out  here; 
Manley  has  coached  me  faithfully  —  but  I  'm  going  to 
be  happy.    My  mind  is  quite  made  up.    Well,  good-by 

—  I  'm  so  glad  you  happened  to  be  on  this  train,  and  I 
wish  I  might  meet  you  again.  Is  n't  it  a  funny  little 
depot?  Oh,  yes  —  thank  you!  I  almost  forgot  that 
umbrella,  and  I  might  need  it.    Yes,  I  '11  write  to  you 

—  I  should  hate  to  drop  out  of  your  mind  completely. 
Address  me  Mrs.  Manley  Fleetwood,  Hope,  Montana. 
Good-by  —  I  wish  — " 


4  LONESOME    LAND 

She  trailed  off  down  the  aisle  with  eyes  shining,  in  the 
wake  of  the  grinning  porter.  She  hurried  down  the  steps, 
glanced  hastily  along  the  platform,  up  at  the  car  window 
where  the  faded  little  school  teacher  was  smiling  wearily 
down  at  her,  waved  her  hand,  threw  a  dainty  little  kiss, 
nodded  a  gay  farewell,  smiled  vaguely  at  the  conductor, 
who  had  been  respectfully  pleasant  to  her  —  and  then 
she  was  looking  at  the  rear  platform  of  the  receding  train 
mechanically,  not  yet  quite  realizing  why  it  was  that  her 
heart  went  heavy  so  suddenly.  She  turned  then  and 
looked  about  her  in  a  surprised,  inquiring  fashion.  Man- 
ley,  it  would  seem,  was  not  at  hand  to  welcome  her.  She 
had  expected  his  face  to  be  the  first  she  looked  upon  in 
that  town,  but  she  tried  not  to  be  greatly  perturbed  at 
his  absence;  so  many  things  may  detain  one. 

At  that  moment  a  young  fellow,  whose  clothes  emphati- 
cally proclaimed  him  a  cowboy,  came  diffidently  up  to 
her,  tilted  his  hat  backward  an  inch  or  so,  and  left  it  that 
way,  thereby  unconsciously  giving  himself  an  air  of  candor 
which  should  have  been  reassuring. 
r  "Fleetwood  was  detained.  You  were  expecting  to  — 
you  're  the  lady  he  was  expecting,  are  n't  you?" 

She  had  been  looking  questioningly  at  her  violin  box 
and  two  trunks  standing  on  their  ends  farther  down  the 
platform,  and  she  smiled  vaguely  without  glancing  at  him. 

"Yes.    I  hope  he  isn't  sick,  or — " 


THE    ARRIVAL    OF    VAL  5 

"I  '11  take  you  over  to  the  hotel,  and  go  tell  him  you  're 
here,"  he  volunteered,  somewhat  curtly,  and  picked  up 
her  bag. 

"Oh,  thank  you."  This  time  her  eyes  grazed  his  face 
inattentively.  She  followed  him  down  the  rough  steps 
of  planking  and  up  an  extremely  dusty  road  —  one  could 
scarcely  call  it  a  street  —  to  an  uninviting  building  with 
crooked  windows  and  a  high,  false  front  of  unpainted 
boards. 

The  young  fellow  opened  a  sagging  door,  let  her  pass 
into  a  narrow  hallway,  and  from  there  into  a  stuffy,  hope- 
lessly conventional  fifth-rate  parlor,  handed  her  the  bag, 
and  departed  with  another  tilt  of  the  hat  which  placed  it 
at  a  different  angle.  The  sentence  meant  for  farewell  she 
did  not  catch,  for  she  was  staring  at  a  wooden-faced 
portrait  upon  an  easel,  the  portrait  of  a  man  with  a 
drooping  mustache,  and  porky  cheeks,  and  dead-looking 
eyes. 

"And  I  expected  bearskin  rugs,  and  antlers  on  the  walls, 
and  big  fireplaces!"  she  remarked  aloud,  and  sighed. 
Then  she  turned  and  pulled  aside  a  coarse  curtain  of 
dusty,  machine-made  lace,  and  looked  after  her  guide. 
He  was  just  disappearing  into  a  saloon  across  the  street, 
and  she  dropped  the  curtain  precipitately,  as  if  she  were 
ashamed  of  spying.  "Oh,  well  —  I  Ve  heard  all  cowboys 
are  more  or  less  intemperate,"  she  excused,  again  aloud. 


6  LONESOME    LAND 

She  sat  down  upon  an  atrocious  red  plush  chair,  and 
wrinkled  her  nose  spitefully  at  the  porky-cheeked  por- 
trait. "  I  suppose  you  're  the  proprietor,"  she  accused, 
"or  else  the  proprietor's  son.  I  wish  you  would  n't  squint 
like  that.  If  I  have  to  stop  here  longer  than  ten  minutes, 
I  shall  certainly  turn  you  face  to  the  wall."  Whereupon, 
with  another  grimace,  she  turned  her  back  upon  it  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  Then  she  stood  up  impatiently, 
looked  at  her  watch,  and  sat  down  again  upon  the  red 
plush  chair. 

"He  did  n't  tell  me  whether  Manley  is  sick,"  she  said 
suddenly,  with  some  resentment.  "  He  was  awfully  abrupt 
in  his  manner.  Oh,  you — "  She  rose,  picked  up  an 
old  newspaper  from  the  marble-topped  table  with  un- 
certain legs,  and  spread  it  ungently  over  the  portrait  upon 
the  easel.  Then  she  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
again.  "I  feel  perfectly  sure  that  cowboy  went  and  got 
drunk  immediately,"  she  complained,  drumming  pettishly 
upon  the  glass.  "And  I  don't  suppose  he  told  Manley 
at  all." 

The  cowboy  was  innocent  of  the  charge,  however,  and 
he  was  doing  his  energetic  best  to  tell  Manley.  He  had 
gone  straight  through  the  saloon  and  into  the  small  room 
behind,  where  a  man  lay  sprawled  upon  a  bed  in  one  cor- 
ner. He  was  asleep,  and  his  clothes  were  wrinkled  as  if 
he  had  lain  there  long.    His  head  rested  upon  his  folded 


THE    ARRIVAL    OF    VAL  7 

arms,  and  he  was  snoring  loudly.  The  young  fellow  went 
up  and  took  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder. 

"Here!  I  thought  I  told  you  to  straighten  up,"  he 
cried  disgustedly.  "Come  alive!  The  train 's  come  and 
gone,  and  your  girl 's  waiting  for  you  over  to  the  hotel. 
D'  you  hear?" 

"Uh-huh!"  The  man  opened  one  eye,  grunted,  and 
closed  it  again. 

The  other  yanked  him  half  off  the  bed,  and  swore. 
This  brought  both  eyes  open,  glassy  with  whisky  and 
sleep.  He  sat  wobbling  upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  staring 
stupidly. 

"Can't  you  get  anything  through  you?"  his  tormentor 
exclaimed.  "  You  want  your  girl  to  find  out  you  're 
drunk?  You  got  the  license  in  your  pocket.  You  're 
supposed  to  get  spliced  this  evening  —  and  look  at  you!" 
He  turned  and  went  out  to  the  bartender. 

"Why  didn't  you  pour  that  coffee  into  him,  like  I 
told  you?"  he  demanded.  "We  've  got  to  get  him  steady 
on  his  pins  somehowr' 

The  bartender  was  sprawled  half  over  the  bar,  apathet- 
ically reading  the  sporting  news  of  a  torn  Sunday  edition 
of  an  Eastern  paper.  He  looked  up  from  imder  his  eye- 
brows and  grunted. 

"How  you  going  to  pour  coffee  down  a  man  that  lays 
flat  on  his  belly  and  won't  open  his  mouth?"  he  inquired. 


8  LONESOME    LAND 

in  an  injured  tone.  "Sleep 's  all  he  needs,  anyway.  He  *11 
be  all  right  by  morning.'' 

The  other  snorted  dissent.  "He  '11  be  all  right  by  dark 
—  or  he  '11  feel  a  whole  lot  worse,"  he  promised  grimly. 
"Dig  up  some  ice.  And  a  good  jolt  of  bromo,  if  you  've 
got  it  —  and  a  towel  or  two." 

The  bartender  wearily  pushed  the  paper  to  one  side, 
reached  languidly  under  the  bar,  and  laid  hold  of  a  round 
blue  bottle.  Yawning  uninterestedly,  he  poured  a  double 
portion  of  the  white  crystals  into  a  glass,  half  filled  another 
under  the  faucet  of  the  water  cooler,  and  held  them  out. 

"Dump  that  into  him,  then,"  he  advised.  "It  '11  help 
some,  if  you  get  it  down.  What 's  the  sweat  to  get  him 
married  off  to-day?    Won't  the  girl  wait?" 

"I  never  asked  her.  You  pound  up  some  ice  and  bring 
it  in,  will  you?"  The  volunteer  nurse  kicked  open  the 
door  into  the  little  room  and  went  in,  hastily  pouring  the 
bromo  seltzer  from  one  glass  to  the  other  to  keep  it  from 
foaming  out  of  all  bounds.  His  patient  was  still  sitting 
upon  the  edge  of  the  bed  where  he  had  left  him,  slumped 
forward  with  his  head  in  his  hands.  He  looked  up  stupidly, 
his  eyes  bloodshot  and  swollen  of  lid. 

"  'S  the  train  come  in  yet? "  he  asked  thickly.  "  'S  you, 
is  it,  Kent?" 

"  The  train  's  come,  and  your  girl  is  waiting  for  you 
at  the  hotel.    Here,  throw  this  into  you  —  and  for  God's 


THE    ARRIVAL    OF    VAL  9 

sake,  brace  up!  You  make  me  tired.  Drink  her  down 
quick  —  the  foam  's  good  for  you.  Here,  you  take  the 
stuff  in  the  bottom,  too.  Got  it?  Take  off  your  coat,  so 
I  can  get  at  you.  You  don't  look  much  like  getting  mar- 
ried, and  that 's  no  josh." 

Fleetwood  shook  his  head  with  drunken  gravity,  and 
groaned.  "I  ought  to  be  killed.  Drunk  to-day!"  He 
sagged  forward  again,  and  seemed  disposed  to  shed  tears. 
"She  '11  never  forgive  me;  she  — " 

Kent  jerked  him  to  his  feet  peremptorily.  "Aw,  look 
here!  I  'm  trying  to  sober  you  up.  You  've  got  to  do 
your  part  —  see?  Here  's  some  ice  in  a  towel  —  you  get 
it  on  your  head.  Open  up  your  shirt,  so  I  can  bathe  your 
chest.  Don't  do  any  good  to  blubber  around  about  it. 
Your  girl  can't  hear  you,  and  Jim  and  I  ain't  sympathetic. 
Set  down  in  this  chair,  where  we  can  get  at  you."  He 
enforced  his  command  with  some  vigor,  and  Fleetwood 
groaned  again.  But  he  shed  no  more  tears,  and  he  grew 
momentarily  more  lucid,  as  the  treatment  took  effect. 

The  tears  were  being  shed  in  the  stuffy  little  hotel  par- 
lor. The  young  woman  looked  often  at  her  watch,  went 
into  the  hallway,  and  opened  the  outer  door  several  times, 
meditating  a  search  of  the  town,  and  drew  back  always 
with  a  timid  jfluttering  of  heart  because  it  was  all  so  crude 
and  strange,  and  the  saloons  so  numerous  and  terrifying 
in  their  very  bald  simpUcity. 


10  LONESOME    LAND 

She  was  worried  about  Manley,  and  she  wished  that 
cowboy  would  come  out  of  the  saloon  and  bring  her  lover 
to  her.  She  had  never  dreamed  of  being  treated  in  this 
way.  No  one  came  near  her  —  and  she  had  secretly 
expected  to  cause  something  of  a  flutter  in  this  Uttle  town 
they  called  Hope. 

Surely,  young  girls  from  the  East,  come  out  to  get 
married  to  their  sweethearts,  weren't  so  numerous  that 
they  should  be  ignored.  If  there  were  other  people  in 
the  hotel,  they  did  not  manifest  their  presence,  save  by 
disquieting  noises  muffled  by  intervening  partitions. 

She  grew  thirsty,  but  she  hesitated  to  explore  the  depths 
of  this  dreary  abode,  in  fear  of  worse  horrors  than  the 
parlor  furniture,  and  all  the  places  of  refreshment  which 
she  could  see  from  the  window  or  the  door  looked  terribly 
masculine  and  immoral,  and  as  if  they  did  not  know  there 
existed  such  things  as  ice  cream,  or  soda,  or  sherbet. 

It  was  after  an  hour  of  this  that  the  tears  came,  which 
is  saying  a  good  deal  for  her  courage.  It  seemed  to  her 
then  that  Manley  must  be  dead.  What  else  could 
keep  him  so  long  away  from  her,  after  three  years  of  im- 
passioned longing  written  twice  a  week  with  punctilious 
regularity? 

He  knew  that  she  was  coming.  She  had  telegraphed 
from  St.  Paul,  and  had  received  a  joyful  reply,  lavishly 
expressed  in  seventeen  words  instead  of  the  ten-word 


THE    ARRIVAL    OF    VAL         11 

limit.  And  they  were  to  have  been  married  immediately 
upon  her  arrival. 

That  cowboy  had  known  she  was  coming;  he  must 
also  have  known  why  Manley  did  not  meet  her,  and  she 
wished  futilely  that  she  had  questioned  him,  instead 
of  walking  beside  him  without  a  word.  He  should 
have  explained.  He  would  have  explained  if  he  had  not 
been  so  very  anxious  to  get  inside  that  saloon  and  get 
drunk. 

She  had  always  heard  that  cowboys  were  chivalrous, 
and  brave,  and  fascinating  in  their  picturesque  dare-devil- 
try, but  from  the  lone  specimen  which  she  had  met  she 
could  not  see  that  they  possessed  any  of  those  qualities. 
If  all  cowboys  were  like  that,  she  hoped  that  she  would 
not  be  compelled  to  meet  any  of  them.  And  why  did  n't 
Manley  come? 

It  was  then  that  an  inner  door  —  a  door  which  she  had 
wanted  to  open,  but  had  lacked  courage  —  squeaked 
upon  its  hinges,  and  an  ill-kept  bundle  of  hair  was  thrust 
in,  topping  a  weather-beaten  face  and  a  scrawny  little 
body.  Two  faded,  inquisitive  eyes  looked  her  over,  and 
the  woman  sidled  in,  somewhat  abashed,  but  too  curious 
to  remain  outside. 

"Oh  yes!"  She  seemed  to  be  answering  some  inner 
question.  "I  didn't  know  you  was  here."  She  went 
over   and  removed   the   newspaper   from    the   portrait. 


U  LONESOME    LAND 

"That  breed  girl  of  mine  ain't  got  the  least  idea  of  how 
to  straighten  up  a  room,"  she  observed  complainingly.  "I 
guess  she  thinks  this  picture  was  made  to  hang  things  on. 
I  '11  have  to  round  her  up  again  and  tell  her  a  few  things. 
This  is  my  first  husband.  He  was  in  politics  and  got  beat, 
and  so  he  killed  himself.  He  could  n't  stand  to  have  folks 
give  him  the  laugh."  She  spoke  with  pride.  "He  was  a 
real  handsome  man,  don't  you  think?  You  mighta  took 
off  the  paper;  it  did  n't  belong  there,  and  he  does  brighten 
up  the  room.  A  good  picture  is  real  company,  seems  to 
me.  When  my  old  man  gets  on  the  rampage  till  I  can't 
stand  it  no  longer,  I  come  in  here  and  set,  and  look  at 
Walt.  'T  ain't  every  man  that 's  got  nerve  to  kill  himself 
—  with  a  shotgun.  It  was  turrible!  He  took  and  tied 
a  string  to  the  trigger — " 

"Oh,  please!" 

The  landlady  stopped  short  and  stared  at  her.  "What? 
Oh,  I  won't  go  into  details  —  it  was  awful  messy,  and 
that 's  a  fact.  I  did  n't  git  over  it  for  a  couple  of  months. 
He  coulda  killed  himself  with  a  six-shooter;  it 's  always 
been  a  mystery  why  he  dug  up  that  old  shotgun,  but  he 
did.  I  always  thought  he  wanted  to  show  his  nerve." 
She  sighed,  and  drew  her  fingers  across  her  eyes.  "I 
don't  s'pose  I  ever  will  git  over  it,"  she  added  compla- 
cently.    "It  was  a  turrible  shock." 

"Do  you  know,"  the  girl  began  desperately,  "if  Mr. 


THE    ARRIVAL    OF    VAL         13 

Manley  Fleetwood  is  in  town?  I  expected  him  to  meet 
me  at  the  train.'' 

"Oh!  I  kinda  thought  you  was  Man  Fleetwood's  girl. 
My  name  's  Hawley.  You  going  to  be  married  to-night, 
ain't  you?" 

"I  —  I  haven't  seen  Mr.  Fleetwood  yet,"  hesitated 
the  girl,  and  her  eyes  filled  again  with  tears.  "  I  'm  afraid 
something  may  have  happened  to  him.    He — " 

Mrs.  Hawley  glimpsed  the  tears,  and  instantly  became 
motherly  in  her  manner.  She  even  went  up  and  patted 
the  girl  on  the  shoulder. 

"There,  now,  don't  you  worry  none.  Man  's  all  right; 
I  seen  him  at  dinner  time.  He  was — "  She  stopped 
short,  looked  keenly  at  the  delicate  face,  and  at  the 
yellow-brown  eyes  which  gazed  back  at  her,  innocent  of 
evil,  trusting,  wistful.  "He  spoke  about  your  coming, 
and  said  he  'd  want  the  use  of  the  parlor  this  evening, 
for  the  wedding.  I  had  an  idea  you  was  coming  on  the 
six-twenty  train.  Maybe  he  thought  so,  too.  I  never 
heard  you  come  in  —  I  was  busy  frying  doughnuts  in 
the  kitchen  —  and  I  just  happened  to  come  in  here  after 
something.  You  'd  oughta  rapped  on  that  door.  Then 
I  'd  'a'  known  you  was  here.  I  '11  go  and  have  my  old 
man  hunt  him  up.  He  must  be  around  town  somewheres. 
Like  as  not  he  '11  meet  the  six-twenty,  expecting  you  to 
be  on  it." 


14  LONESOME    LAND 

She  smiled  reassuringly  as  she  turned  to  the  inner  door. 

"You  take  off  your  hat  and  jacket,  and  pretty  soon 
I  '11  show  you  up  to  a  room.  I  '11  have  to  round  up  my 
old  man  first  —  and  that 's  liable  to  take  time."  She 
turned  her  eyes  quizzically  to  the  porky-cheeked  portrait. 
"You  jest  let  Walt  keep  you  company  till  I  get  back.  He 
was  real  good  company  when  he  was  livin'." 

She  smiled  again  and  went  out  briskly,  came  back,  and 
stood  with  her  hand  upon  the  cracked  doorknob. 

"I  clean  forgot  your  name,"  she  hinted.  "Man  told 
me,  at  dinner  time,  but  I  'm  no  good  on  earth  at  remember- 
ing names  till  after  I  've  seen  the  person  it  belongs  to." 

"Valeria  Peyson  —  Val,  they  call  me  usually,  at  home." 
The  homesickness  of  the  girl  shone  in  her  misty  eyes, 
haunted  her  voice.  Mrs.  Hawley  read  it,  and  spoke  more 
briskly  than  she  would  otherwise  have  done. 

"Well,  we  're  plumb  strangers,  but  we  ain't  going  to 
stay  that  way,  because  every  time  you  come  to  town  you  '11 
have  to  stop  here;  there  ain't  any  other  place  to  stop. 
And  I  'm  going  to  start  right  in  calling  you  Val.  We 
don't  use  no  ceremony  with  folk's  names,  out  here.  Val 's 
a  real  nice  name,  short  and  easy  to  say.  Mine  's  Arline. 
You  can  call  me  by  it  if  you  want  to.  I  don't  let  every- 
body—  so  many  wants  to  cut  it  down  to  Leen,  and  I 
won't  stand  for  that;  I  'm  lean  enough,  without  havin' 
it  throwed  up  to  me.    We  might  jest  as  well  start  in  the 


THE    ARRIVAL    OF    VAL         15 

way  we  're  likely  to  keep  it  up,  and  you  won't  feel  so 
much  like  a  stranger. 

"I'm  awful  glad  you're  going  to  settle  here  —  there 
ain't  so  awful  many  women  in  the  country;  we  have  to 
rake  and  scrape  to  git  enough  for  three  sets  when  we 
have  a  dance  —  and  more  likely  we  can't  make  out 
more  'n  two.  D'  you  dance?  Somebody  said  they  seen 
a  fiddle  box  down  to  the  depot,  with  a  couple  of  big  trunks; 
d'you  play  the  fiddle?" 

"A  little,"  Valeria  smiled  faintly. 

"Well,  that  '11  come  in  awful  handy  at  dances.  We  'd 
have  'em  real  often  in  the  winter  if  it  was  n't  such  a  job 
to  git  music.  Well,  I  got  too  much  to  do  to  be  standin' 
here  talkin'.  I  have  to  keep  right  after  that  breed  girl 
all  the  time,  or  she  won't  do  nothing.  I  '11  git  my  old 
man  after  your  fellow  right  away.  Jest  make  yourself 
to  home,  and  anything  you  want  ask  for  it  in  the  kitchen." 
She  smiled  in  friendly  fashion  and  closed  the  door  with 
a  little  slam  to  make  sure  that  it  latched. 

Valeria  stood  for  a  moment  with  her  hands  hanging 
straight  at  her  sides,  staring  absently  at  the  door.  Then 
she  glanced  at  Walt,  staring  wooden-faced  from  his  gilt 
frame  upon  his  gilt  easel,  and  shivered.  She  pushed  the 
red  plush  chair  as  far  away  from  him  as  possible,  sat  down 
with  her  back  to  the  picture,  and  immediately  felt  his 
dull,  black  eyes  boring  into  her  back. 


16  LONESOME    LAND 

"What  a  fool  I  must  be!"  she  said  aloud,  glancing 
reluctantly  over  her  shoulder  at  the  portrait.  She  got 
up  resolutely,  placed  the  chair  where  it  had  stood  before, 
and  stared  deliberately  at  Walt,  as  if  she  would  prove 
how  little  she  cared.  But  in  a  moment  more  she  was 
crying  dismally. 


CHAPTER  II 

WELL-MEANT  ADVICE 

KENT  BURNETT,  bearing  over  his  arm  a  coat 
newly  pressed  in  the  Delmonico  restaurant,  dodged 
in  at  the  back  door  of  the  saloon,  threw  the  coat  down 
upon  the  tousled  bed,  and  pushed  back  his  hat  with  a 
gesture  of  relief  at  an  onerous  duty  well  performed. 

"I  had  one  hell  of  a  time,"  he  announced  plaintively, 
"and  that  Chink  will  likely  try  to  poison  me  if  I  eat  over 
there,  after  this  — but  I  got  her  ironed,  all  right.  Get 
into  it,  Man,  and  chase  yourself  over  there  to  the  hotel. 
Got  a  clean  collar?    That  one  's  all-over  coffee." 

Fleetwood  stifled  a  groan,  reached  into  a  trousers  pocket, 
and  brought  up  a  dollar.  "Get  me  one  at  the  store,  will 
you,  Kent?  Fifteen  and  a  half  —  and  a  tie,  if  they  Ve  got 
any  that's  decent.  And  hurry!  Such  a  triple-three-star 
fool  as  I  am  ought  to  be  taken  out  and  shot." 

He  went  on  cursing  himself  audibly  and  bitterly,  even 
after  Kent  had  hurried  out.  He  was  sober  now  —  was 
Manley  Fleetwood  —  sober  and  self-condemnatory  and 
penitent.  His  head  ached  splittingly;  his  eyes  were 
heavy-lidded   and    bloodshot,   and    his  hands    trembled 


18  LONESOME    LAND 

so  that  he  could  scarcely  button  his  coat.  But  he  was 
sober.  He  did  not  even  carry  the  odor  of  whisky  upon 
his  breath  or  his  person;  for  Kent  had  been  very  thought- 
ful and  very  thorough.  He  had  compelled  his  patient 
to  crunch  and  swallow  many  nauseous  tablets  of  "whisky 
killer,"  and  he  had  sprinkled  his  clothes  liberally  with 
Jockey  Club;  Fleetwood,  therefore,  while  he  emanated 
odors  in  plenty,  carried  about  him  none  of  the  aroma 
properly  belonging  to  intoxication. 

In  ten  minutes  Kent  was  back,  with  a  celluloid  collar 
and  two  ties  of  questionable  taste.  Manley  just  glanced 
at  them,  waved  them  away  with  gloomy  finality,  and 
swore. 

"They  're  just  about  the  limit,  and  that 's  no  dream," 
sympathized  Kent,  "but  they're  clean,  and  they  don't 
look  like  they  'd  been  slept  in  for  a  month.  You  Ve  got 
to  put  'em  on  —  by  George,  I  sized  up  the  layout  in  both 
those  imitation  stores,  and  I  drew  the  highest  in  the  deck. 
And  for  the  Lord's  sake,  get  a  move  on.  Here,  I  '11  button 
it  for  you." 

Behind  Fleetwood's  back,  when  collar  and  tie  were  in 
place,  Kent  grinned  and  lowered  an  eyelid  at  Jim,  who 
put  his  head  in  from  the  saloon  to  see  how  far  the  sobering 
had  progressed. 

"You  look  fine!"  he  encouraged  heartily.  "That 
green-and-blue  tie  's  just  what  you  need  to  set  you  off. 


WELL-MEANT    ADVICE       19 

And  the  collar  sure  is  shiny  and  nice  —  your  girl  will  be 
plumb  dazzled.  She  won't  see  anything  wrong  —  believe 
me.  Now,  run  along  and  get  married.  Here,  you  better 
sneak  out  the  back  way;  if  she  happened  to  be  looking 
out,  she  'd  hkely  wonder  what  you  were  doing,  coming 
out  of  a  saloon.  Duck  out  past  the  coal^ehed  and  cut 
into  the  street  by  Brinberg's.  Tell  her  you  're  sick  — 
got  a  sick  headache.  Your  looks  '11  swear  it 's  the  truth. 
Hike!"  He  opened  the  door  and  pushed  Fleetwood  out, 
watched  him  out  of  sight  around  the  corner  of  Brinberg's 
store,  and  turned  back  into  the  close-smelling  little  room. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  remarked  to  Jim,  "I  never  thought 
of  it  before,  but  I  've  been  playing  a  low-down  trick  on 
that  poor  girl.  I  kinda  wish  now  I  ^d  put  her  next,  and 
given  her  a  chance  to  draw  outa  the  game  if  she  wanted 
to.  It 's  stacking  the  deck  on  her,  if  you  ask  me!''  He 
pushed  his  hat  back  upon  his  head,  gave  his  shoulders 
a  twist  of  dissatisfaction,  and  told  Jim  to  dig  up  some 
Eastern  beer;  drank  it  meditatively,  and  set  down  the 
glass  with  some  force. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said  disgustedly,  "darn  my  fool  soul,  I 
stacked  the  deck  on  that  girl  —  and  she  looked  to  be  real 
nice.  Kinda  innocent  and  trusting,  like  she  has  n't  found 
out  yet  how  rotten  mean  men  critters  can  be."  He  took 
the  bottle  and  poured  himself  another  glass.  "She's 
sure  due  to  wise  up  a  lot,"  he  added  grimly. 


20  LONESOME    LAND 

"You  bet  your  sweet  life!"  Jim  agreed,  and  then  he 
reconsidered.  "Still,  I  dunno;  Man  ain't  so  worse.  He 
ain't  what  you  can  call  a  real  booze  fighter.  This  here  's 
what  I  'd  call  an  accidental  jag;  got  it  in  the  exuberance 
of  the  joyful  moment  when  he  knew  his  girl  was  coming. 
He'll  likely  straighten  up  and  be  all  right.  He — " 
Jim  broke  off  there  and  looked  to  see  who  had  opened 
the  door. 

"Hello,  Polly,"  he  greeted  carelessly. 

The  man  came  forward,  grinning  skinnily.  Polycarp 
Jenks  was  the  outrageous  name  of  him.  He  was  under 
the  average  height,  and  he  was  lean  to  the  point  of  emaci- 
ation. His  mouth  was  absolutely  curveless  —  a  straight 
gash  across  his  face;  a  gash  which  simply  stopped  short 
without  any  tapering  or  any  turn  at  the  corners,  when  it 
had  reached  as  far  as  was  decent.  His  nose  was  also 
straight  and  high,  and  owned  no  perceptible  slope;  indeed, 
it  seemed  merely  a  pendant  attached  to  his  forehead,  and 
its  upper  termination  was  indefinite,  except  that  some- 
where between  his  eyebrows  one  felt  impelled  to  con- 
sider it  forehead  rather  than  nose.  His  eyes  also  were 
rather  long  and  narrow,  like  buttonholes  cut  to  match 
the  mouth.  When  he  grinned  his  face  appeared  to  break 
up  into  spUnters. 

He  was  intensely  proud  of  his  name,  and  his  pleasure 
was  almost  pathetic  when  one  pronounced  it  without 


WELL-MEANT    ADVICE  21 

curtailment  in  his  presence.  His  skinniness  was  also  a 
matter  of  pride.  And  when  you  realize  that  he  was  an 
indefatigable  gossip,  and  seemed  always  to  be  riding  at 
large,  gathering  or  imparting  trivial  news,  you  should 
know  fairly  well  Polycarp  Jenks. 

"I  see  Man  Fleetwood's  might'  near  sober  enough  to 
git  married,"  Polycarp  began,  coming  up  to  the  two  and 
leaning  a  sharp  elbow  upon  the  bar  beside  Kent.  "By 
granny,  gitting  married 'd  sober  anybody!  Dinner  time 
he  was  so  drunk  he  could  n't  find  his  mouth.  I  met  him 
up  here  a  little  ways  just  now,  and  he  was  so  sober  he 
remembered  to  pay  me  that  ten  I  lent  him  t'  other  day  — 
he-he!    Open  up  a  bottle  of  pop,  James. 

"His  girl 's  been  might'  near  crying  her  eyes  out,  'cause 
he  did  n't  show  up.  Mis'  Hawley  says  she  looked  like 
she  was  due  at  a  funeral  'stid  of  a  weddin'.  'CHned  to  be 
stuck  up,  accordin'  to  Mis'  Hawley  —  shied  at  hearin' 
about  Walt  —  he-he!  I  '11  bet  there  ain't  been  a  transient 
to  that  hotel  in  the  last  five  year,  man  or  woman,  that 
ain't  had  to  hear  about  Walt  and  the  shotgun  —  Pop  's 
all  right  on  a  hot  day,  you  bet! 

"  She  *s  got  two  trunks  and  a  fiddle  over  to  the  depot  — 
don't  see  how  'n  the  world  Man  's  going  to  git  'em  out 
to  the  ranch;  they  're  might'  near  as  big  as  claim  shacks, 
both  of  'em.  Time  she  gits  'em  into  Man's  shack  she'll  have 
to  go  outside  every  time  she  wants  to  turn  around  —  he-he! 


22  LONESOME    LAND 

By  granny  —  two  trunks,  to  one  woman!     Have  some 
pop,  Kenneth,  on  me. 

''The  boys  are  talkin'  about  a  shivaree  t'-night.  On 
the  quiet,  y'  know.  Some  of  'em  's  workin'  on  a  horse 
fiddle  now,  over  in  the  lumber  yard.  Wanted  me  to  play 
a  coal-oil  can,  but  I  dunno.  I  'm  gittin'  a  leetle  old  for 
sech  doings.  Keeps  you  up  nights  too  much.  Man  had 
any  sense,  he  'd  marry  and  pull  outa  town.  'Bout  fifteen 
or  twenty  in  the  bunch,  and  a  string  of  cans  and  irons  to 
reach  clean  across  the  street.  By  granny,  I  'm  going  to 
plug  m'  ears  good  with  cotton  when  it  comes  off  —  he-he! 
'Nother  bottle  of  pop,  James." 

"Who's  running  the  show,  Polycarp?"  Kent  asked, 
accepting  the  glass  of  soda  because  he  disliked  to  offend. 
"Funny  I  did  n't  hear  about  it." 

■    Polycarp  twisted  his  slit  of  a  mouth  knowingly,  and 
closed  one  slit  of  an  eye  to  assist  the  facial  elucidation. 

"Ain't  funny  —  not  when  I  tell  you  Fred  De  Garmo  *s 
handing  out  the  invites,  and  he  sure  aims  to  have  plenty 
of  excitement  —  he-he!  Betcher  Manley  won't  be  able 
to  set  on  the  wagon  seat  an'  hold  the  lines  t'-morrow  — 
not  if  he  comes  out  when  he  's  called  and  does  the  thing 
proper  —  he-he!  An'  if  he  don't  show  up,  they  aim  to 
jest  about  pull  the  old  shebang  down  over  his  ears.  Hope  '11 
think  it 's  the  day  of  judgment,  sure  —  he-he!  Reckon 
I  might 's  well  git  in  on  the  fun  —  they  won't  be  no  sleepin' 


WELL-MEANT    ADVICE         23 

within  ten  mile  of  the  place,  nohow,  and  a  feller  always 
sees  the  joke  better  when  he  's  lendin'  a  hand.  Too  bad 
you  an'  Fred  's  on  the  outs,  Kenneth." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  —  it  suits  me  fine,"  Kent  declared 
easily,  setting  down  his  glass  with  a  sigh  of  relief;  he  hated 

pop. 

"What's  it  all  about,  anyway?"  quizzed  Poly  carp, 
hungering  for  the  details  which  had  thus  far  been  deniedi 
him.  "De  Garmo  sees  red  whenever  anybody  mentions 
your  name,  Kenneth — but  I  never  did  hear  no  particulars." 

"No?"  Kent  was  turning  toward  the  door.  "Well, 
you  see,  Fred  claims  he  can  holler  louder  than  I  can,  and 
I  say  he  can't."  He  opened  the  door  and  calmly  departed, 
leaving  Polycarp  looking  exceedingly  foolish  and  a  bit 
angry. 

Straight  to  the  hotel,  without  any  pretense  at  disguising 
his  destination,  marched  Kent.  He  went  into  the  office 
—  which  was  really  a  saloon  —  invited  Hawley  to  drink 
with  him,  and  then  wondered  audibly  if  he  could  beg 
some  pie  from  Mrs.  Hawley. 

"Supper '11  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes,"  Hawley  in- 
formed him,  glancing  up  at  the  round,  dust-covered  clock 
screwed  to  the  wall. 

"I  don't  want  supper  —  I  want  pie,"  Kent  retorted, 
and  opened  a  door  which  led  into  the  hallway.  He  went 
down  the  narrow  passage  to  another  door,   opened  it 


24  LONESOME    LAND 

without  ceremony,  and  was  assailed  by  the  odor  of  many 
things  —  the  odor  which  spoke  plainly  of  supper,  or 
some  other  assortment  of  food.  No  one  was  in  sight,  so 
he  entered  the  dining  room  boldly,  stepped  to  another 
door,  tapped  very  hghtly  upon  it,  and  went  in.  By  this 
somewhat  roundabout  method  he  invaded  the  parlor. 

Manley  Fleetwood  was  lying  upon  an  extremely  un- 
comfortable couch,  of  the  kind  which  is  called  a  sofa.  He 
had  a  lace-edged  handkerchief  folded  upon  his  brow,  and 
upon  his  face  was  an  expression  of  conscious  unworthiness 
which  struck  Kent  as  being  extremely  humorous.  He 
grinned  understandingly  and  Manley  flushed  —  also  under- 
standingly.  Valeria  hastily  released  Manley's  hand  and 
looked  very  prim  and  a  bit  haughty,  as  she  regarded  the 
intruder  from  the  red  plush  chair,  pulled  close  to  the 
couch. 

"Mr.  Fleetwood's  head  is  very  bad  yet,"  she  informed 
Kent  coldly.  "  I  really  do  not  think  he  ought  to  see  — 
anybody." 

Kent  tapped  his  hat  gently  against  his  leg  and  faced 
her  unflinchingly,  quite  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  she 
regarded  him  as  a  dissolute,  drunken  cowboy  with  whom 
Manley  ought  not  to  associate. 

"That's  too  bad."  His  eyes  failed  to  drop  guiltily 
before  hers,  but  continued  to  regard  her  calmly.  "  I  'm 
only  going  to  stay  a  minute.     I  came  to  tell  you  that 


WELL-MEANT    ADVICE         25 

there 's  a  scheme  to  raise  —  to  '  shi  varee '  you  two,  to- 
night. I  thought  you  might  want  to  pull  out,  along  about 
dark." 

Manley  looked  up  at  him  inquiringly  with  the  eye 
which  was  not  covered  by  the  lace-edged  handkerchief. 
Valeria  seemed  startled,  just  at  first.  Then  she  gave  Kent 
a  little  shock  of  surprise. 

"I  have  read  about  such  things.  A  charivari,  even 
out  here  in  this  uncivilized  section  of  the  country,  can 
hardly  be  dangerous.  I  really  do  not  think  we  care  to 
run  away,  thank  you."  Her  lip  curled  unmistakably. 
"Mr.  Fleetwood  is  suffering  from  a  sick  headache.  He 
needs  rest  —  not  a  cowardly  night  ride." 

Naturally  Kent  admired  the  spirit  she  showed,  in  spite 
of  that  eloquent  lip,  the  scorn  of  which  seemed  aimed 
directly  at  him.    But  he  still  faced  her  steadily. 

"  Sure.  But  if  I  had  a  headache  —  like  that  —  I  'd 
certainly  burn  the  earth  getting  outa  town  to-night. 
Shivarees^'  —  he  stuck  stubbornly  to  his  own  way  of 
saying  it  —  "  are  bad  for  the  head.  They  are  n't  .'what  you 
could  call  silent  —  not  out  here  in  this  uncivilized  section 
of  the  country.  They  're  plumb  — "  He  hesitated  for 
just  a  fraction  of  a  second,  and  his  resentment  of  her  tone 
melted  into  a  twinkle  of  the  eyes.  "They  Ve  got  fifty 
coal-oil  cans  strung  with  irons  on  a  rope,  and  there  '11  be 
about  ninety-five  six-shooters  popping,  and  eight  or  ten 


26  LONESOME    LAND 

horse-fiddles,  and  they  11  all  be  yelling  to  beat  four  of  a 
kind.  They're  going/'  he  said  quite  gravely,  "to  play 
the  full  orchestra.  And  I  don't  believe,"  he  added 
ironically,  "it  's  going  to  help  Mr.  Fleetwood's  head 
any." 

Valeria  looked  at  him  doubtingly  with  steady,  amber- 
colored  eyes  before  she  turned  solicitously  to  readjust 
the  lace-edged  handkerchief.  Kent  seized  the  opportunity 
to  stare  fixedly  at  Fleetwood  and  jerk  his  head  meaningly 
backward,  but  when,  warned  by  Manley's  changing  ex- 
pression, she  glanced  suspiciously  over  her  shoulder, 
Kent  was  standing  quietly  by  the  door  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  gazing  absently  at  Walt  in  his  gilt-edged  frame 
upon  the  gilt  easel,  and  waiting,  evidently,  for  their 
decision. 

"I  shall  tell  them  that  Mr.  Fleetwood  is  sick  — that 
he  has  a  horrible  headache,  and  must  n't  be  disturbed." 

Kent  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to  cough  slightly  behind 
his  hand.    Valeria's  eyes  sparkled. 

"Even  out  here,"  she  went  on  cuttingly,  "there  must 
be  some  men  who  are  gentlemen!" 

Kent  refrained  from  looking  at  her,  but  the  blood  crept 
darkly  into  his  tanned  cheeks.  Evidently  she  "had  it 
in  for  him,"  but  he  could  not  see  why.  He  wondered 
swiftly  if  she  blamed  him  for  Manley's  condition. 

Fleetwood  suddenly  sat  up,  spilling  the  handkerchief 


WELL-MEANT    ADVICE         27 

to  the  floor.  When  Valeria  essayed  to  push  him  back  he 
put  her  hand  gently  away.  He  rose  and  came  over  to 
Kent. 

"Is  this  straight  goods?"  he  demanded.  "Why  don't 
you  stop  it?" 

"  Fred  De  Garmo  's  running  this  show.  My  influence 
would  n't  go  as  far  — " 

Fleetwood  turned  to  the  girl,  and  his  manner  was  master- 
ful. "  I  'm  going  out  with  Kent  —  oh,  Val,  this  is  Mr. 
Burnett.  Kent,  Miss  Peyson.  I  forgot  you  two  are  n't 
acquainted." 

From  Valeria's  manner,  they  were  in  no  danger 
of  becoming  friends.  Her  acknowledgment  was  barely 
perceptible.    Kent  bowed  stiffly. 

"I'm  going  to  see  about  this,  Val,"  continued  Fleet- 
wood. "Oh,  my  head's  better  —  a  lot  better,  really. 
Maybe  we  'd  better  leave  town — " 

"If  your  head  is  better,  I  don't  see  why  we  need  run 
away  from  a  lot  of  silly  noise,"  Valeria  interposed,  with 
merciless  logic.    "They  '11  think  we  're  awful  cowards." 

"Well,  I  '11  try  and  find  out  —  I  won't  be  gone  a  minute, 
dear."  After  that  word,  spoken  before  another,  he  ap- 
peared to  be  in  great  haste,  and  pushed  Kent  rather  un- 
ceremoniously through  the  door.  In  the  dining  room, 
Kent  diplomatically  included  the  landlady  in  the  confer- 
ence, by  a  gesture  of  much  mystery  bringing  her  in  from 


^8  LONESOME    LAND 

the  kitchen,  where  she  had  been  curiously  peeping  out  at 
them. 

"Got  to  let  her  in,"  he  whispered  to  Manley,  "to  keep 
her  face  closed." 

They  murmured  together  for  five  minutes.  Kent  seemed 
to  meet  with  some  opposition  from  Fleetwood  —  an 
aftermath  of  Valeria's  objections  to  flight  —  and  became 
brutally  direct. 

" Go  ahead  —  do  as  you  please,"  he  said  roughly.  "But 
you  know  that  bunch.  You  '11  have  to  show  up,  and 
you  '11  have  to  set  'em  up,  and  —  aw,  thunder!  By  morn- 
ing you  '11  be  plumb  laid  out.  You  '11  be  headed  into  one 
of  your  four-day  jags,  and  you  know  it.  I  was  thinking 
of  the  girl  —  but  if  you  don't  care,  I  guess  it 's  none  of 
my  funeral.  Go  to  it  —  but  darned  if  I  'd  want  to  start 
my  honeymoon  out  like  that!" 

Fleetwood  weakened,  but  still  he  hesitated.  "If  I 
didn't  show  up — "  he  began  hopefully.  But  Kent 
withered  him  with  a  look. 

"That  bunch  will  be  two-thirds  full  before  they  start 
out.  If  you  don't  show  up,  they  '11  go  up  and  haul  you 
outa  bed  —  hell,  Man !  You  'd  likely  start  in  to  kill 
somebody  off.  Fred  De  Garmo  don't  love  you  much 
better  than  he  loves  me.  You  know  what  him  and  his 
friends  would  do  then,  I  should  think."  He  stopped,  and 
seemed  to  consider  briefly  a  plan,  but  shook  his  head  over 


WELL-MEANT    ADVICE         29 

it.  "I  could  round  up  a  bunch  and  stand  'em  off,  maybe 
—  but  we  'd  be  shooting  each  other  up,  first  rattle  of  the 
box.    It 's  a  whole  lot  easier  for  you  to  get  outa  town." 

"I'll  tell  somebody  you  got  the  bridal  chamber," 
hissed  Arline,  in  a  very  loud  whisper.  "  That 's  number 
two,  in  front.  I  can  keep  a  light  going  and  pass  back  'n' 
forth  once  in  a  while,  to  look  like  you  're  there.  That  '11 
fool  'em  good.  They  '11  wait  till  the  light 's  been  out 
quite  a  while  before  they  start  in.  You  go  ahead  and 
git  married  at  seven,  jest  as  you  was  going  to  —  and  if 
Kent'U  have  the  team  ready  somewheres,  I  can  easy 
sneak  you  out  the  back  way." 

"  I  could  n't  get  the  team  out  of  town  without  giving 
the  whole  deal  away,"  Kent  objected.  "You'll  have 
to  go  horseback." 

"Val  can't  ride,"  Fleetwood  stated,  as  if  that  settled 
the  matter. 

"Damn  it,  she's  got  to  ride!"  snapped  Kent,  losing 
patience.  "Unless  you  want  to  stay  and  go  on  a  toot 
that  '11  last  a  week,  most  likely." 

"Val  belongs  to  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,"  shrugged  Fleetwood. 
"She'd  never—" 

"Well,  it's  that  or  have  a  fight  on  your  hands  you 
maybe  can't  handle.  I  don't  see  any  sense  in  haggling 
about  going,  now  you  know  what  to  expect.  But,  of 
course,"  he  added,  with  some  acrimony,  "it's  your  own 


30  LONESOME    LAND 

business.  I  don't  know  what  the  dickens  I  'm  getting 
all  worked  up  over  it  for.  Suit  yourself."  He  turned 
toward  the  door. 

"She  could  ride  my  Mollie  —  and  I  got  a  sidesaddle 
hanging  up  in  the  coal  shed.  She  could  use  that,  or  a 
stock  saddle,  either  one,"  planned  Mrs.  Hawley  anxiously. 
"You  better  pull  out,  Man." 

"Hold  on,  Kent!  Don't  rush  off  — we'll  go,"  Fleet- 
wood surrendered.  "Val  won't  Hke  it,  but  I  '11  explain 
as  well  as  I  can,  without  —  Say !  you  stay  and  see  us 
married,  won't  you?    It 's  at  seven,  and  — " 

Kent's  fingers  curled  around  the  doorknob.  "No, 
thanks.  Weddings  and  funerals  are  two  bunches  of 
trouble  I  always  ride  'way  around.  Time  enough  when 
you  've  got  to  be  it.  Along  about  nine  o'clock  you  try 
and  get  out  to  the  stockyards  without  letting  the  whole 
town  see  you  go,  and  I  '11  have  the  horses  there;  just 
beyond  the  wings,  by  that  pile  of  ties.  You  know  the 
place.  I  '11  wait  there  till  ten,  and  not  a  minute  longer. 
That  '11  give  you  an  hour,  and  you  won't  need  any  more 
time  than  that  if  you  get  down  to  business.  You  find 
out  from  her  what  saddle  she  wants,  and  you  can  tell  me 
while  I  'm  eating  supper,  Mrs.  Hawley.  I  '11  'tend  to 
the  rest."  He  did  not  wait  to  hear  whether  they  agreed 
to  the  plan,  but  went  moodily  down  the  narrow  passage, 
and  entered  frowningly  the  "office."    Several  men  were 


WELL-MEANT    ADVICE         31 

gathered  there,  waiting  the  supper  summons.  Hawley 
glanced  up  from  wiping  a  glass,  and  grinned. 

"Well,  did  you  git  the  pie?" 

"Naw.  She  said  I  'd  got  to  wait  for  mealtime.  She 
plumb  chased  me  out." 

Fred  De  Garmo,  sprawled  in  an  armchair  and  smoking 
a  cigar,  lazily  fanned  the  smoke  cloud  from  before  his 
face  and  looked  at  Kent  attentively. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  LADY  IN  A  TEMPER 

TO  saddle  two  horses  when  the  night  has  grown  black 
and  to  lead  them,  unobserved,  so  short  a  distance 
as  two  hundred  yards  or  so  seems  a  simple  thing;  and 
for  two  healthy  young  people  with  full  use  of  their  wits 
and  their  legs  to  steal  quietly  away  to  where  those  horses 
are  waiting  would  seem  quite  as  simple.  At  the  same 
time,  to  prevent  the  successful  accomplishment  of  these 
things  is  not  difficult,  if  one  but  fully  understands  the 
designs  of  the  fugitives. 

Hawley  Hotel  did  a  flourishing  business  that  night. 
The  two  long  tables  in  the  dining  room,  usually  not  more 
than  half  filled  by  those  who  hungered  and  were  not  over- 
nice  concerning  the  food  they  ate,  were  twice  filled  to 
overflowing.  Mrs.  Hawley  and  the  "breed"  girl  held 
hasty  consultations  in  the  kitchen  over  the  supply,  and 
never  was  there  such  a  rattling  of  dishes  hurriedly  cleansed 
for  the  next  comer. 

Kent  managed  to  find  a  chair  at  the  first  table,  and  eyed 
the  landlady  unobtrusively.  But  Fred  De  Garmo  sat 
down  opposite,  and  his  eyes  were  bright  and  watchful. 


A    LADY    IN    A    TEMPER         SS 

so  that  there  seemed  no  possible  way  of  delivering  a  mes- 
sage undetected  —  until,  indeed,  Mrs.  Hawley  in  desper- 
ation resorted  to  strategy,  and  urged  Kent  unnecessarily 
to  take  another  slice  of  bacon. 

"Have  some  more  —  it's  side!"  she  hissed  in  his  ear, 
and  watched  anxiously  his  face. 

"All  right,"  said  Kent,  and  speared  a  slice  with  his 
fork,  although  his  plate  was  already  well  supplied  with 
bacon.  Then,  glancing  up,  he  detected  Fred  in  a  thought- 
ful stare  which  seemed  evenly  divided  between  the  land- 
lady and  himself.  Kent  was  conscious  of  a  passing,  mental 
discomfort,  which  he  put  aside  as  foolish,  because  De 
Garmo  could  not  possibly  know  what  Mrs.  Hawley  meant. 
To  ease  his  mind  still  further  he  glared  insolently  at  Fred, 
and  then  at  Polycarp  Jenks  te-heeing  a  few  chairs  away. 
After  that  he  finished  as  quickly  as  possible  without  ex- 
citing remark,  and  went  his  way. 

He  had  not,  however,  been  two  minutes  in  the  office 
before  De  Garmo  entered  From  that  time  on  through 
the  wholecevening  Fred  was  never  far  distant;  wherever 
he  went,  Kent  could  not  shake  him  off  though  De  Garmo 
never  seemed  to  pay  any  attention  to  him,  and  his  presence 
was  always  apparently  accidental. 

"  I  reckon  I  '11  have  to  lick  that  son  of  a  gun  yet,"  sighed 
Kent,  when  a  glance  at  the  round  clock  in  the  hotel  office 
told  him  that  in  just  twenty  minutes  it  would  strike  nine; 


34  LONESOME    LAND 

and  not  a  move  made  toward  getting  those  horses  sad- 
dled and  out  to  the  stockyards. 

There  was  much  talk  of  the  wedding,  which  had  taken 
place  quietly  in  the  parlor  at  the  appointed  hour,  but 
not  a  man  mentioned  a  charivari.  There  were  many  who 
wished  openly  that  Fleetwood  would  come  out  and  be 
sociable  about  it,  but  not  a  hint  that  they  intended  to 
take  measures  to  bring  him  among  them.  He  had  caused 
a  box  of  cigars  to  be  placed  upon  the  bar  of  every  saloon 
in  town,  where  men  might  help  themselves  at  his  expense. 
Evidently  he  had  considered  that  with  the  cigars  his  social 
obligations  were  canceled.  They  smoked  the  cigars,  and, 
with  the  same  breath,  gossiped  of  him  and  his  affairs. 

At  just  fourteen  minutes  to  nine  Kent  went  out,  and, 
without  any  attempt  at  concealment,  hurried  to  the  Haw- 
ley  stables.  Half  a  minute  behind  him  trailed  De  Garmo, 
also  without  subterfuge. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  bridal  couple  stole  away  from  the 
rear  of  the  hotel,  and,  keeping  to  the  shadows,  went  stum- 
bling over  the  uneven  ground  to  the  stockyards. 

"Here's  the  tie  pile,'*  Fleetwood  announced,  in  an 
undertone,  when  they  reached  the  place.  "You  stay 
here,  Val,  and  I  '11  look  farther  along  the  fence;  maybe 
the  horses  are  down  there." 

Valeria  did  not  reply,  but  stood  very  straight  and 
dignified  in  the  shadow  of  the  huge  pile  of  rotting  railroad 


A    LADY    IN    A    TEMPER         35 

ties.  He  was  gone  but  a  moment,  and  came  anxiously 
back  to  her. 

"They  're  not  here,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "Don't 
worry,  dear.    He  '11  come  —  I  know  Kent  Burnett." 

"Are  you  sure?"  queried  Val  sweetly.  "From  what 
I  have  seen  of  the  gentleman,  your  high  estimate  of  him 
seems  quite  unauthorized.  Aside  from  escorting  me  to 
the  hotel,  he  has  been  anything  but  reliable.  Instead  of 
telling  you  that  I  was  here,  or  telling  me  that  you  were 
sick,  he  went  straight  into  a  saloon  and  forgot  all  about 
us  both.  You  know  that.  If  he  were  your  friend,  why 
should  he  immediately  begin  carousing,  instead  of — " 

"He  didn't,"  Fleetwood  defended  weakly. 

"No?  Then  perhaps  you  can  explain  his  behavior. 
Why  did  n't  he  tell  me  you  were  sick?  Why  did  n't  he 
tell  you  I  came  on  that  train?  Can  you  tell  me  that, 
Manley?" 

Manley,  for  a  very  good  reason,  could  not;  so  he  put 
his  arms  around  her  and  tried  to  coax  her  into  good  humor. 

"  Sweetheart,  let 's  not  quarrel  so  soon  —  why,  we  're 
only  two  hours  married!  I  want  you  to  be  happy,  and 
if  you  '11  only  be  brave  and  — " 

"Brave!"  Mrs.  Fleetwood  laughed  rather  contempt- 
uously, for  a  bride.  "  Please  to  understand,  Manley,  that 
I  'm  not  frightened  in  the  least.  It 's  you  and  that  horrid 
cowboy  —  /  don't  see  why  we  need  run  away,  like  crim- 


36  LONESOME    LAND 

inals.  Those  men  don't  intend  to  murder  us,  do  they?" 
Her  mood  softened  a  Uttle,  and  she  squeezed  his  arm 
between  her  hands.  "You  dear  old  silly,  I  'm  not  blaming 
you.  With  your  head  in  such  a  state,  you  can't  think 
things  out  properly,  and  you  let  that  cowboy  influence  you 
against  your  better  judgment.  You  're  afraid  I  might  be 
annoyed  —  but,  really,  Manley,  this  silly  idea  of  running 
away  annoys  me  much  more  than  all  the  noise  those  fel- 
lows could  possibly  make.  Indeed,  I  don't  think  I  would 
mind  —  it  would  give  me  a  glimpse  of  the  real  West; 
and,  perhaps,  if  they  grew  too  boisterous,  and  I  spoke 
to  them  and  asked  them  not  to  be  quite  so  rough  —  and, 
really,  they  only  mean  it  as  a  sort  of  welcome,  in  their 
crude  way.  We  could  invite  some  of  the  nicest  in  to  have 
cake  and  coffee  —  or  maybe  we  might  get  some  ice  cream 
somewhere  —  and  it  might  turn  out  a  very  pleasant  little 
affair.  I  don't  mind  meeting  them,  Manley.  The  worst 
of  them  can't  be  as  bad  as  that  —  but,  of  course,  if  he 's 
your  friend,  I  suppose  I  ought  n't  to  speak  too  freely  my 
opinion  of  him!" 

Fleetwood  held  her  closely,  patted  her  cheek  absently, 
and  tried  to  think  of  some  effective  argument. 

"They'll  be  drunk,  sweetheart,"  he  told  her,  after 
a  silence. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  she  returned  firmly.  "  I  have  been 
watching  the  street  all  the  evening.    I  saw  any  number 


A    LADY    IN    A    TEMPER         37 

of  men  passing  back  and  forth,  and  I  did  n't  see  one  who 
staggered.  And  they  were  all  very  quiet,  considering 
their  rough  ways,  which  one  must  expect.  Why,  Manley, 
you  always  wrote  about  these  Western  men  being  such 
fine  fellows,  and  so  generous  and  big-hearted,  under  their 
rough  exterior.  Your  letters  were  full  of  it  —  and  how 
chivalrous  they  all  are  toward  nice  women." 

She  laid  her  head  coaxingly  against  his  shoulder.  "  Let 's 
go  back,  Manley.  I  —  I  ward  to  see  a  charivari,  dear. 
It  will  be  fun.  I  want  to  write  all  about  it  to  the  girls. 
They  '11  be  perfectly  wild  with  envy."  She  struggled 
with  her  conventional  upbringing.  "And  even  if  some 
of  them  are  slightly  under  the  influence  —  of  liquor,  we 
need  n't  meet  them.  You  need  n't  introduce  those  at  all, 
and  I  'm  sure  they  will  understand." 

"Don't  be  silly,  Vall"  Fleetwood  did  not  mean  to  be 
rude,  but  a  faint  glimmer  of  her  romantic  viewpoint  — 
a  viewpoint  gained  chiefly  from  current  fiction  and  the 
stage  —  came  to  him  and  contrasted  rather  brutally  with 
the  reality.  He  did  not  know  how  to  make  her  under- 
stand, without  incriminating  himself.  His  letters  had 
been  rather  idealistic,  he  admitted  to  himself.  They  had 
been  written  unthinkingly,  because  he  wanted  her  to  like 
this  big  land;  naturally  he  had  not  been  too  baldly  truthful 
in  picturing  the  place  and  the  people.  He  had  passed 
lightly  over  their  faults  and  thrown  the  limelight  on  their 


38  LONESOME    LAND 

virtues;  and  so  he  had  aided  unwittingly  the  stage  and 
the  fiction  she  had  read,  in  giving  her  a  false  impression. 

Offended  at  his  words  and  his  tone,  she  drew  away 
from  him  and  glanced  wistfully  back  toward  the  town, 
as  if  she  meditated  a  haughty  return  to  the  hotel.  She 
ended  by  seating  herself  upon  a  projecting  tie. 

"Oh,  very  well,  my  lord,"  she  retorted,  "I  shall  try 
and  not  be  silly,  but  merely  idiotic,  as  you  would  have 
me.  You  and  your  friend!"  She  was  very  angry,  but 
she  was  perfectly  well-bred,  she  hoped.  "If  I  might 
venture  a  word,"  she  began  again  ironically,  "it  seems 
to  me  that  your  friend  has  been  playing  a  practical  joke 
upon  you.  He  evidently  has  no  intention  of  bringing  any 
fleet  steeds  to  us.  No  doubt  he  is  at  this  moment  laughing 
with  his  dissolute  companions,  because  we  are  sitting  out 
here  in  the  dark  like  two  silly  chickens  I" 

"I  think  he  's  coming  now,"  Manley  said  rather  stiffly. 
"Of  course,  I  don't  ask  you  to  like  him;  but  he  's  putting 
himself  to  a  good  deal  of  trouble  for  us,  and  — " 

"Wasted  effort,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  Valeria 
put  in,  with  a  chirpy  accent  which  was  exasperating, 
even  to  a  bridegroom  very  much  in  love  with  his 
bride. 

In  the  darkness  that  muffled  the  land,  save  where  the 
yellow  flare  of  lamps  in  the  little  town  made  a  misty 
brightness,  came  the  click  of  shod  hoofs.    Another  moment 


A    LADY    IN    A    TEMPER         39 

and  a  man,  mounted  upon  a  white  horse,  loomed  indistinct 
before  them,  seeming  to  take  substance  from  the  night. 
Behind  him  trailed  another  horse,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life  Valeria  heard  the  soft,  whispering  creak  of 
saddle  leather,  the  faint  clank  of  spur  chains,  and  the 
whir  of  a  horse  mouthing  the  "cricket^'  in  his  bit.  Even 
in  her  anger,  she  was  conscious  of  an  answering  tingle 
of  blood,  because  this  was  life  in  the  raw  —  life  such  as 
she  had  dreamed  of  in  the  tight  swaddlings  of  a  smug 
civilization,  and  had  longed  for  intensely. 

Kent  swung  down  close  beside  them,  his  form  indistinct 
but  purposeful.  "I  'm  late,  I  guess,"  he  remarked,  turning 
to  Fleetwood.  "Fred  got  next,  somehow,  and  —  I  was 
detained." 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Manley,  going  up  and  laying  a 
questioning  hand  upon  the  horse,  by  that  means  fully 
recognizing  it  as  Kent's  own. 

"In  the  oats  box,"  said  Kent  laconically.  He  turned 
to  the  girl.  "  I  could  n't  get  the  sidesaddle,"  he  explained 
apologetically.  "I  looked  where  Mrs.  Hawley  said  it 
was,  but  I  could  n't  find  it  —  and  I  did  n't  have  much 
time.    You  '11  have  to  ride  a  stock  saddle." 

Valeria  drew  back  a  step.  "You  mean  —  a  man's 
saddle?"     Her  voice  was  carefully  polite. 

"Why,  yes."  And  he  added:  "The  horse  is  dead 
gentle  —  and  a  sidesaddle  's  no  good,  anyhow.     You  '11 


40  LONESOME    LAND 

like  this  better/*  He  spoke,  as  was  evident,  purely  from 
a  man's  viewpoint. 

That  viewpoint  Mrs.  Fleetwood  refused  to  share.  "Oh, 
I  could  n't  ride  a  man's  saddle,"  she  protested,  still  politely, 
and  one  could  imagine  how  her  lips  were  pursed.  "  Indeed, 
I  'm  not  sure  that  I  care  to  leave  town  at  all."  To  her 
the  declaration  did  not  seem  unreasonable  or  abrupt; 
but  she  felt  that  Kent  was  very  much  shocked.  She 
saw  him  turn  his  head  and  look  back  toward  the  town, 
as  if  he  half  expected  a  pursuit. 

"I  don't  reckon  the  oats  box  will  hold  Fred  very  long," 
he  observed  meditatively.  He  added  reminiscently  to 
Manley:  "I  had  a  deuce  of  a  time  getting  the  cover  down 
and  fastened." 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Valeria,  with  sweet  dignity, 
"that  you  gave  yourself  so  much  trouble  — " 

"I'm  kinda  sorry  myself,"  Kent  agreed  mildly,  and 
Valeria  blushed  hotly,  and  was  glad  he  could  not  see. 

"  Come,  Val  —  you  can  ride  this  saddle,  all  right.  All 
the  girls  out  here  —  " 

"I  did  not  come  West  to  imitate  all  the  girls.  Indeed, 
I  could  never  think  of  such  a  thing.  I  could  n't  possibly 
—  really,  Manley!  And,  you  know,  it  does  seem  so 
childish  of  us  to  run  away  —  " 

Kent  moved  restlessly,  and  felt  to  see  if  the  cinch  was 
tight. 


A    LADY    IN    A    TEMPER  41 

Fleetwood  took  her  coaxingly  by  the  arm.  "Come, 
sweetheart,  don't  be  stubborn.    You  know  —  " 

"Well,  really!  If  it 's  a  question  of  obstinacy —  You 
see,  I  look  at  the  matter  in  this  way:  You  believe  that 
you  are  doing  what  is  best  for  my  sake;  I  don't  agree  with 
you  —  and  it  does  seem  as  if  I  should  be  permitted  to 
judge  what  I  desire."  Then  her  dignity  and  her  sweet 
calm  went  down  before  a  flash  of  real,  unpolished  temper. 
"You  two  can  take  those  nasty  horses  and  ride  clear  to 
Dakota,  if  you  want  to.  I  'm  going  back  to  the  hotel. 
And  I  'm  going  to  tell  somebody  to  let  that  poor  fellow 
out  of  that  box.  I  think  you  're  acting  perfectly  horrid, 
both  of  you,  when  I  don't  want  to  go!"  She  actually 
started  back  toward  the  scattered  points  of  light. 

She  did  not,  however,  get  so  far  away  that  she  failed  to 
hear  Kent's  "Well,  I  '11  be  damned!"  uttered  in  a  tone  of 
intense  disgust. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  assured  herself,  because  of  the  thrill 
of  compunction  caused  by  that  one  forcible  sentence.  She 
had  never  before  in  her  life  heard  a  man  really  swear.  It 
affected  her  very  much  as  would  the  accidental  touch  of 
an  electric  battery.  She  walked  on  slowly,  stumbling  a 
little  and  trying  to  hear  what  it  was  they  were  saying. 

Then  Kent  passed  her,  loping  back  to  the  town,  the  led 
horse  shaking  his  saddle  so  that  it  rattled  the  stirrups 
like  castanets  as  he  galloped.     "I  don't  care,"  she  told 


42  LONESOME    LAND 

herself  again  very  emphatically,  because  she  was  quite 
sure  that  she  did  care  —  or  that  she  would  care  if  only 
she  permitted  herself  to  be  so  foolish.  Manley  overtook 
her  then,  and  drew  her  hand  under  his  arm  to  lead  her. 
But  he  seemed  quite  sullen,  and  would  not  say  a  word  all 
the  way  back. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    "sHIVAREE" 

KENT  jerked  open  the  stable  door,  led  in  his  horses, 
turned  them  into  their  stalls,  and  removed  the 
saddles  with  quick,  nervous  movements  which  told 
plainly  how  angry  he  was. 

"  I  '11  get  myself  all  excited  trying  to  do  her  a  favor 
again  —  I  don't  think! "  he  growled  in  the  ear  of  Michael, 
his  gray  gelding.  "Think  of  me  getting  let  down  on  my 
face  like  that!    By  a  woman!" 

He  felt  along  the  wall  in  the  intense  darkness  until  his 
fingers  touched  a  lantern,  took  it  down  from  the  nail 
where  it  hung,  and  lighted  it.  He  carried  it  farther  down 
the  rude  passage  between  the  stalls,  hung  it  high  upon 
another  nail,  and  turned  to  the  great  oats  box,  from 
within  which  came  a  vigorous  thumping  and  the  sound  of 
muttered  cursing. 

Kent  was  not  in  the  mood  to  see  the  humor  of  anything 
in  particular.  Had  he  known  anything  about  Pandora's 
box  he  might  have  drawn  a  comparison  very  neatly  while 
he  stood  scowling  down  at  the  oats  box,  for  certainly  he 


44  LONESOME    LAND 

was  likely  to  release  trouble  in  plenty  when  he  unfastened 
that  lid.  He  felt  of  the  gun  swinging  at  his  hip,  just  to 
assure  himself  that  it  was  there  and  ready  for  business  in 
case  Fred  wanted  to  shoot,  and  rapped  with  his  knuckles 
upon  the  box,  producing  instant  silence  within. 

"Don't  make  so  much  noise  in  there,"  he  advised 
grimly,  "not  unless  you  want  the  whole  town  to  know 
where  you  are,  and  have  'em  give  you  the  laugh.  And, 
listen  here:  I  ain't  apologizing  for  what  I  done,  but,  all 
the  same,  I  'm  sorry  I  did  it.  It  was  n't  any  use.  I  'd 
rather  be  shut  up  in  an  oats  box  all  night  than  get  let 
down  like  I  was  —  and  I  'm  telling  you  this  so  as  to 
start  us  off  even.  If  you  want  to  fight  about  it  when 
you  come  out,  all  right;  you  're  the  doctor.  But  I  'm 
just  as  sorry  as  you  are  it  happened.  I  lay  down  my 
hand  right  here.  I  hope  you  shivaree  Man  and  his  wife  — 
and  shivaree  'em  good.  I  hope  you  bust  the  town  wide 
open." 

"Why  this  sudden  change  of  heart?"  came  muffled 
from  within. 

"Ah  —  that 's  my  own  business.  Well,  I  don't  like  you 
a  little  bit,  and  you  know  it;  but  I  '11  tell  you,  just  to  give 
you  a  fair  show.  I  wanted  to  keep  Man  sober,  and  I  tried 
to  get  him  and  his  wife  out  of  town  before  that  shivaree 
of  yours  was  pulled  off.  But  the  lady  would  n't  have  it 
that  way.    I  got  let  right  down  on  my  face,  and  I  'm  done. 


THE    ''SHIVAREE"  45 

Now  you  know  just  where  I  stand.  Maybe  I  'm  a  fool 
for  telling  you,  but  I  seem  to  be  in  the  business  to-night. 
Come  on  out." 

He  unfastened  the  big  iron  hasp,  which  was  showing 
signs  of  the  strain  put  upon  it,  and  stepped  back  watch- 
fully. The  thick,  oaken  lid  was  pushed  up,  and  Fred  De 
Garmo,  rather  dusty  and  disheveled  and  purple  from  the 
close  atmosphere  of  the  box  and  from  anger  as  well,  came 
up  like  a  jack-in-the-box  and  glared  at  Kent.  When  he 
had  stepped  out  upon  the  stable  floor,  however,  he  smiled 
rather  unpleasantly. 

"If  you've  told  the  truth,"  he  said  maliciously,  "I 
guess  the  lady  has  pretty  near  evened  things  up.  If  you 
have  n't  —  if  I  don't  find  them  both  at  the  hotel  —  well  — 
Anyway,"  he  added,  with  an  ominous  inflection,  "there  '11 
be  other  days  to  settle  this  in!" 

"Why,  sure.  Help  yourself,  Fred,"  Kent  retorted 
cheerfully,  and  stood  where  he  was  until  Fred  had  gone 
out.  Then  he  turned  and  closed  the  box.  "  Between  that 
yellow-eyed  dame  and  the  chump  that  went  and  left  this 
box  wide  open  for  me  to  tip  Fred  into,"  he  soliloquized, 
while  he  took  down  the  lantern,  and  so  sent  the  shadows 
dancing  weirdly  about  him,  "  I  've  got  a  bunch  of  trouble 
mixed  up,  for  fair.  I  wish  the  son  of  a  gun  would  fight 
it  out  now,  and  be  done  with  it;  but  no,  that  ain't  Fred. 
He  'd  a  heap  rather  wait  and  let  it  draw  interest!" 


46  LONESOME    LAND 

Over  in  the  hotel  the  "yellow-eyed  dame"  was  doing 
her  unsophisticated  best  to  meet  the  situation  gracefully, 
and  to  realize  certain  vague  and  rather  romantic  dreams 
of  her  life  out  West.  She  meant  to  be  very  gracious,  for 
one  thing,  and  to  win  the  chivalrous  friendship  of  every 
man  who  came  to  participate  in  the  rude  congratulations 
that  had  been  planned.  Just  how  she  meant  to  do  this 
she  did  not  know  —  except  that  the  graciousness  would 
certainly  prove  a  very  important  factor. 

"  I  *m  going  to  remain  downstairs,"  she  told  Manley, 
when  they  reached  the  hotel.  It  was  the  first  sentence 
she  had  spoken  since  he  overtook  her.  "  I  'm  so  glad, 
dear,"  she  added  diplomatically,  "that  you  decided  to 
stay.  I  want  to  see  that  funny  landlady  now,  please,  and 
get  her  to  serve  coffee  and  cake  to  our  guests  in  the  parlor. 
I  wish  I  might  have  had  one  of  my  trunks  brought  over 
here;  I  should  like  to  wear  a  pretty  gown."  She  glanced 
down  at  her  tailored  suit  with  true  feminine  dissatisfac- 
tion. "  But  everything  was  so  —  so  confused,  with  your 
being  late,  and  sick  —  is  your  head  better,  dear?  " 

Manley,  in  very  few  words,  assured  her  that  it  was. 
Manley  was  struggling  with  his  inner  self,  trying  to  answer 
one  very  important  question,  and  to  answer  it  truthfully: 
Could  he  meet  "the  boys,"  do  his  part  among  them,  and 
still  remain  sober?  That  seemed  to  be  the  only  course 
open  to  him  now,  and  he  knew  himself  just  well  enough 


THE    "SHIVAREE"  47 

to  doubt  his  own  strength.  But  if  Kent  would  help  him  — 
He  felt  an  immediate  necessity  to  find  Kent. 

"You  '11  find  Mrs.  Hawley  somewhere  around,"  he 
said  hurriedly.    "I  Ve  got  to  see  Kent  — " 

"Oh,  Manley!  Don't  have  anything  to  do  with  that 
horrid  cowboy!  He  's  not  —  nice.  He  —  he  swore,  when 
he  must  have  known  I  could  hear  him;  and  he  was  swear- 
ing about  me,  Manley.  Didn't  you  hear  him?"  She 
stood  in  the  doorway  and  clung  to  his  arm. 

"No,"  lied  Manley.  "You  must  have  been  mistaken, 
sweetheart." 

"Oh,  I  was  n't;  I  heard  him  quite  plainly."  She  must 
have  thought  it  a  terrible  thing,  for  she  almost  whispered 
the  last  words,  and  she  released  him  with  much  reluctance. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  Manley  was  in  danger  of  falling 
among  low  associates,  and  that  she  must  protect  him  in 
spite  of  himself.  It  failed  to  occur  to  her  that  Manley 
had  been  exposed  to  that  danger  for  three  years,  without 
any  protection  whatever. 

She  was  thankful,  when  he  came  to  her  later  in  the 
parlor,  to  learn  from  him  that  he  had  not  held  any  speech 
with  Kent.  That  was  some  comfort  —  and  she  felt  that 
she  needed  a  little  comforting,  just  then.  Her  consulta- 
tion with  Arline  had  been  rather  unsatisfactory.  Arline 
had  told  her  bluntly  that  "the  bunch"  didn't  want  any 
coffee  and  cake.    Whisky  and  cigars,  said  Arline^  without 


48  LONESOME    LAND 

so  much  as  a  blush,  was  what  appealed  to  them  fellows. 
If  Manley  handed  it  out  liberal  enough,  they  would  n't 
bother  his  bride.  Very  likely,  Arline  had  assured  her,  she 
would  n't  see  one  of  them.  That,  on  the  whole,  had  been 
rather  discouraging.  How  was  she  to  show  herself  a 
gracious  lady,  forsooth,  if  no  one  came  near  her?  But 
she  kept  these  things  jealously  tucked  away  in  the  remotest 
corner  of  her  own  mind,  and  managed  to  look  the  relief  she 
did  not  feel. 

And,  after  all,  the  charivari,  as  is  apt  to  be  the  case 
when  the  plans  are  laid  so  carefully,  proved  a  very  tame 
affair.  Valeria,  sitting  rather  dismally  in  the  parlor  with 
Mrs.  Hawley  for  company,  at  midnight  heard  a  banging 
of  tin  cans  somewhere  outside,  a  fitful  popping  of  six- 
shooters,  and  an  abortive  attempt  at  a  procession  coming 
up  the  street.  But  the  lines  seemed  to  waver  and  then 
break  utterly  at  the  first  saloon,  where  drink  was  to  be 
had  for  the  asking  and  Manley  Fleetwood  was  pledged 
to  pay,  and  the  rattle  of  cans  was  all  but  drowned  in  the 
shouts  of  laughter  and  talk  which  came  from  the  "office," 
across  the  hall.  For  where  is  the  pleasure  or  the  profit  in 
charivaring  a  bridal  couple  which  stays  up  and  waits  quite 
openly  for  the  clamor? 

"Is  it  always  so  noisy  here  at  night?"  asked  Valeria 
faintly  when  Mrs.  Hawley  had  insisted  upon  her  lying 
down  upon  the  uncomfortable  sofa. 


THE    *'SHIVAREE"  49 

"  Well,  no  —  unless  a  round-up  pulls  in,  or  there  's  a 
dance,  or  it 's  Christmas,  or  something.  It 's  liable  to 
keep  up  till  two  or  three  o'clock,  so  the  sooner  you  git 
used  to  it,  the  better  off  you  '11  be.  I  'm  going  to  leave 
you  here,  and  go  to  bed  —  unless  you  want  to  go  upstairs 
yourself.  Only  it  '11  be  noisier  than  ever  up  in  your  room, 
for  it 's  right  over  the  office,  and  the  way  sound  travels 
up  is  something  fierce.  Don't  you  be  afraid  —  I  '11  lock 
this  door,  and  if  your  husband  wants  to  come  in  he  can 
come  through  the  dining  room."  She  looked  at  Valeria 
and  hesitated  before  she  spoke  the  next  sentence.  "And 
don't  you  worry  a  bit  over  him,  neither.  My  old  man  was 
in  the  b'tchen  a  minute  ago,  when  I  was  out  there,  and  he 
says  Man  ain't  drinking  a  drop  to-night.  He  's  keeping  as 
straight  as  —  " 

Valeria  sat  up  suddenly,  quite  scandalized.  "Oh  — 
why,  of  course  Manley  would  n't  drink  with  them !  Why 
—  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing?  The  idea!"  She 
stared  reproachfully  at  her  hostess. 

"Oh,  sure!  I  did  n't  say  such  a  thing  was  liable  to  hap- 
pen. I  just  thought  you  might  be  —  worrying  —  they're 
making   so   much   racket  in  there,"  stammered  Arline. 

"  Indeed,  no.  I  'm  not  at  all  worried,  thank  you. 
And  please  don't  let  me  keep  you  up  any  longer,  Mrs. 
Hawley.  I  am  quite  comfortable  —  mentally  and  phys- 
ically, I  assure  you.    Good  night." 


50  LONESOME    LAND 

Not  even  Mrs.  Hawley  could  remain  after  that.  She 
went  out  and  closed  the  door  carefully  behind  her,  without 
even  finding  voice  enough  to  return  Valeria's  sweetly 
modulated  good  night. 

"She  's  got  a  whole  lot  to  learn,"  she  relieved  her  feel- 
ings somewhat  by  muttering  as  she  mounted  the  stairs. 

What  it  cost  Manley  Fleetwood  to  abstain  absolutely 
and  without  even  the  compromise  of  "soft"  drinks  that 
night,  who  can  say?  Three  years  of  free  living  in  Mon- 
tana had  lowered  his  standard  of  morality  without  giv- 
ing him  that  rugged  strength  of  mind  which  makes  a  man 
master  of  himself  first  of  all.  He  had  that  day  lain, 
drunken  and  sleeping,  when  he  should  have  been  at  his 
mental  and  physical  best  to  meet  the  girl  who  would 
marry  him.  It  was  that  very  defection,  perhaps,  which 
kept  him  sober  in  the  midst  of  his  taunting  fellows,  Now 
that  Valeria  was  actually  here,  and  was  his  wife,  he  was 
possessed  by  the  desire  to  make  some  sacrifice  by  which 
he  might  prove  his  penitence.  At  any  cost  he  would 
spare  her  pain  and  humihation,  he  told  himself. 

He  did  it,  and  he  did  it  under  difficulty.  He  was  denied 
the  moral  support  of  Kent  Burnett,  for  Kent  was  sulking 
over  his  sHght,  and  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him. 
He  was  jeered  unmercifully  by  Fred  De  Garmo  and  his 
crowd.  He  was  "baptized"  by  some  drunken  reveler,  so 
that  the  stench  of  spilled  whisky  filled  his  nostrils  and 


He  was  jeered  unmercifully  by  Fred  De  Garmo  and  his  crowd 

Page  50. 


THE    ^'SHIVAREE"  51 

tortured  him  the  night  through.  He  was  urged,  he  was 
buUied,  he  was  ridiculed.  His  head  throbbed,  his  eyeballs 
burned.  But  through  it  all  he  stayed  among  them  be- 
cause he  feared  that  if  he  left  them  and  went  to  Val,  some 
drunken  fool  might  follow  him  and  shock  her  with  his 
inebriety.  He  stayed,  and  he  stayed  sober.  Val  was  his 
wife.  She  trusted  him,  and  she  was  ignorant  of  his  sins. 
If  he  went  to  her  staggering  and  babbling  incoherent 
foolishness,  he  knew  it  would  break  her  heart. 

When  the  sky  was  at  last  showing  faint  dawn  tints  and 
the  clamor  had  worn  itself  out  perforce  —  because  even 
the  leaders  were,  after  all,  but  men,  and  there  was  a  limit 
to  their  endurance  —  Manley  entered  the  parlor,  haggard 
enough,  it  is  true,  and  bearing  with  him  the  stale  odor  of 
cigars  long  since  smoked,  and  of  the  baptism  of  bad  whisky, 
but  also  with  the  air  of  conscious  rectitude  which  sits  so 
comically  upon  a  man  unused  to  the  feeling  of  virtue. 

As  is  so  often  the  case  when  one  fights  alone  the  good 
fight  and  manages  to  win,  he  was  chagrined  to  find  him- 
self immediately  put  upon  the  defensive.  Val,  as  she 
speedily  demonstrated,  declined  to  look  upon  him  as  a 
hero,  or  as  being  particularly  virtuous.  She  considered 
herself  rather  neglected  and  abused.  She  believed  that 
he  had  stayed  away  because  he  was  angry  with  her  on 
account  of  her  refusal  to  leave  town,  and  she  thought 
that  was  rather  brutal  of  him.    Also,  her  head  ached  from 


52  LONESOME    LAND 

tears  and  lack  of  sleep,  and  she  hated  the  town,  the  hotel 
—  almost  she  hated  Manley  himself. 

Manley  felt  the  rebuff  of  her  chilling  silence  when  he 
came  in,  and  when  she  twitched  herself  loose  from  his 
embrace  he  came  near  regretting  his  extreme  virtue.  He 
spent  ten  minutes  trying  to  explain,  without  telling  all 
of  the  truth,  and  he  felt  his  good  opinion  of  himself  slip- 
ping from  him  before  her  inexorable  disfavor. 

"  Well,  I  don't  blame  you  for  not  liking  the  town,  Val," 
he  said  at  last,  rather  desperately.  "But  you  mustn't 
judge  the  whole  country  by  it.  You  '11  like  the  ranch, 
dear.    You  '11  feel  as  if  you  were  in  another  world  —  " 

"I  hope  so,"  Val  interrupted  quellingly. 

"We  '11  drive  out  there  just  as  soon  as  we  have  break- 
fast." He  laid  his  hand  diflSdently  upon  her  tumbled  hair. 
"  I  had  to  stay  out  there  with  those  fellows.  I  did  n  't 
want  to  —  " 

"I  don't  want  any  breakfast,"  said  Val,  getting  up  and 
going  over  to  the  window  —  it  would  seem  to  avoid  his 
caress.  "  The  odor  of  that  dim'ng  room  is  enough  to  make 
one  fast  forever."  She  lifted  the  grimy  lace  curtain  with 
her  finger  tips  and  looked  disconsolately  out  upon  the 
street.  "  It 's  just  a  dirty,  squalid  little  hamlet.  I  don't 
suppose  the  streets  have  been  cleaned  or  the  garbage  re- 
moved from  the  back  yards  since  the  place  was  first  — 
founded."    She  laughed  shortly  at  the  idea  of  "found- 


THE    **SHIVAREE"  53 

ing"  a  wretched  village  like  that,  but  she  had  no  other 
word  at  hand. 

"Arline,"  she  remarked,  in  a  tone  of  drawling  reckless- 
ness. "Arline  swears.  Did  you  know  it?  I  suppose, 
of  course,  you  do.  She  said  something  that  struck  me 
as  being  shockingly  true.  She  said  I  'm  '  sure  having  a 
hell  of  a  honeymoon.' "  Then  she  bit  her  lips  hard,  because 
her  eyelids  were  stinging  with  the  tears  she  refused  to 
shed  in  his  presence. 

"Oh,  Val!"  From  the  sofa  Manley  stared  contritely 
at  her  back.  She  must  feel  terrible,  he  thought,  to  bring 
herself  to  repeat  that  sentence  —  Val,  so  icily  pure  in 
her  thoughts  and  her  speech. 

Val  was  blinking  her  tawny  eyes  —  like  the  eyes  of 
a  lion  in  color  —  at  the  street.  Not  for  the  world  would 
she  let  him  see  that  she  wanted  to  cry!  A  figure,  blurred 
to  indistinctness,  appeared  in  a  doorway  nearly  opposite, 
stood  for  a  moment  looking  up  at  the  reddened  sky,  and 
came  across  the  street.  As  the  tears  were  beaten  back 
she  saw  and  recognized  him,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip. 

"Here  comes  your  cowboy  friend  —  from  a  saloon, 
of  course."  Her  voice  was  lazily  contemptuous.  "Only 
his  presence  in  the  street  was  needed  to  complete  the 
picture  of  desolation.  He  has  been  in  a  fight,  judging 
from  his  face.  It  is  all  bruised  and  skinned,  and  one  eye 
is  swollen  —  ugh!     My  guide,  my  adviser  —  is  it  pos- 


54  LONESOME    LAND 

sible,  Manley,  that  you  could  n't  find  a  nice  man  to  meet 
me  at  the  train?"  She  turned  from  the  disagreeable 
sight  of  Kent  and  faced  her  husband.  "Are  all  the  men 
like  that?    And  are  all  the  women  like  —  Arline?" 

Manley  looked  at  her  dumbly  from  the  sofa.  Would 
Val  ever  come  to  understand  the  place,  and  the  people, 
he  was  wondering. 

She  laughed  suddenly.  "  I  'm  beginning  to  feel  very 
sorry  for  Walt/'  she  said  irrelevantly,  pointing  to  the 
easel  and  the  expressionless  crayon  portrait  staring  out 
from  the  gilt  frame.  "He  has  to  stay  in  this  room  always. 
And  I  believe  another  two  hours  would  drive  me  hope- 
lessly insane."  The  word  caught  her  attention.  "  Hope ! " 
she  laughed  ironically.  "  What  imbecile  ever  thought  of 
hope  in  the  same  breath  with  this  place?  What  they 
really  ought  to  do  is  paint  that  'Abandon-hope'  ad- 
monition across  the  whole  front  of  the  depot!" 

Manley,  because  he  had  lifted  his  head  too  suddenly 
and  so  sent  white-hot  irons  of  pain  clashing  through 
his  brain,  turned  sullen.  "If  you  hate  it  as  bad  as  all 
that,"  he  said,  "why,  there  '11  be  a  train  for  the  East  in 
about  two  hours." 

Val  stiffened  perceptibly,  though  the  petulance  in  her 
face  changed  to  something  wistful.  "Do  you  mean  — 
do  you  want  me  to  go?  "  she  asked  very  calmly. 

Manley  pressed  his  fingers  hard  against  his  temples. 


THE    '*SHIVAREE"  55 

"  You  know  I  don't.  I  want  you  to  stay  and  like  the 
country,  and  be  happy.  But  —  the  way  you  have  been 
talking  makes  it  seem  —  a-ah!''  He  dropped  his  tor- 
tured head  upon  his  hands  and  did  not  trouble  to  finish 
what  he  had  intended  to  say.  Nervous  strain,  lack  of 
sleep,  and  a  headache  to  begin  with,  were  taking  heavy 
toll  of  him.  He  could  not  argue  with  her;  he  could  not 
do  anything  except  wish  he  were  dead,  or  that  his  head 
would  stop  aching. 

Val  took  one  of  her  unexpected  changes  of  mood.  She 
went  up  and  laid  her  cold  fingers  lightly  upon  his  temples, 
where  she  could  see  the  blood  beating  savagely  in  the 
swollen  veins.  "What  a  little  beast  I  am!"  she  mur- 
mured contritely.  "Shall  I  get  you  some  coffee,  dear? 
Or  some  headache  tablets,  or  —  You  know  a  cold  cloth 
helped  you  last  evening.  Lie  down  for  a  little  while. 
There  's  no  hurry  about  starting,  is  there?  I  —  I  don't 
hate  the  place  so  awfully,  Manley.  I  'm  just  cross  because 
I  could  n't  sleep  for  the  noise.  Here  's  a  cushion,  dear. 
I  think  it 's  stuffed  with  scrap  iron,  for  there  does  n't 
seem  to  be  anything  soft  about  it  except  the  invitation 
to  'slumber  sweetly,'  in  red  and  green  silk;  but  anything 
is  better  than  the  head  of  that  sofa  in  its  natural  state." 

She  arranged  the  cushion  to  her  own  liking,  if  not  to 
his,  and  when  it  was  done  she  bent  down  impulsively  and 
kissed  him  on  the  cheek,  blushing  vividly  the  while. 


56  LONESOME    LAND 

"I  won't  be  nasty  and  cross  any  more,"  she  promised. 
"Now,  I  'm  going  to  interview  Arline.  I  hear  dishes 
rattHng  somewhere;  perhaps  I  can  get  a  cup  of  real  coffee 
for  you.''  At  the  door  she  shook  her  finger  at  him  play- 
fully. "Don't  you  dare  stir  off  that  sofa  while  I  'm  gone," 
she  admonished.  "And,  remember,  we  're  not  going 
to  leave  town  until  your  head  stops  aching  —  not  if  we 
stay  here  a  week!" 

She  insisted  upon  bringing  him  coffee  and  toast  upon 
a  tray  —  a  battered  old  tray,  purloined  for  that  purpose 
from  the  saloon,  if  she  had  only  known  it  —  and  she  in- 
formed him,  with  a  pretty,  domestic  pride,  that  she  had 
made  the  toast  herself. 

"Arline  was  going  to  lay  slices  of  bread  on  top  of  the 
stove,"  she  explained.  "She  said  she  always  makes  toast 
that  way,  and  no  one  could  tell  the  difference!  I  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing  —  did  you,  Manley?  But  I  've 
been  attending  a  cooking  school  ever  since  you  left  Fern 
Hill.  I  did  n't  tell  you  —  I  wanted  it  for  a  surprise.  I 
could  have  done  better  with  the  toast  before  a  wood 
fire  —  I  think  poor  Arline  was  nearly  distracted  at  the 
way  I  poked  coals  down  from  the  grate;  but  she  did  n't 
say  anything.  Is  n't  it  funny,  to  have  cream  in  cans  I 
I  don't  suppose  it  ever  saw  a  cow  —  do  you?  The  coffee  's 
pretty  bad,  is  n't  it?  But  wait  until  we  get  home!  I  can 
make  lovely  coffee  —  if  you  '11  get  me  a  percolator.    You 


THE    *'SHIVAREE"  57 

will,  won't  you?  And  I  learned  how  to  make  the  most 
delicious  fruit  salad,  just  before  I  left.  A  cousin  of  Mrs. 
Forman's  taught  me  how.  Could  you  drink  another  cup, 
dear?" 

Manley  could  not,  and  she  deplored  the  poor  quality, 
although  she  generously  absolved  Arline  from  blame, 
because  there  seemed  so  much  to  do  in  that  kitchen.  She 
refused  to  take  any  breakfast  herself,  telling  him  gayly 
that  the  odor  in  the  kitchen  was  both  food  and  drink. 

Because  he  understood  a  httle  of  her  loathing  for  the 
place,  Manley  Ued  heroically  about  his  headache,  so  that 
within  an  hour  they  were  leaving  town,  with  the  two 
great  trunks  roped  securely  to  the  buckboard  behind 
the  seat,  and  with  Val's  suitcase  placed  flat  in  the  front, 
where  she  could  rest  her  feet  upon  it.  Val  was  so  happy 
at  the  prospect  of  getting  away  from  the  town  that  she 
actually  threw  a  kiss  in  the  direction  of  Arline,  standing 
with  her  frowsy  head,  her  dough-spotted  apron,  and  her 
tired  face  in  the  parlor  door. 

Her  mood  changed  immediately,  however,  for  she  had 
no  more  than  turned  from  waving  her  hand  at  Arline,  when 
they  met  Kent,  riding  slowly  up  the  street  with  his  hat 
tilted  over  the  eye  most  swollen.  Without  a  doubt  he 
had  seen  her  waving  and  smiling,  and  so  he  must  have 
observed  the  instant  cooling  of  her  manner.  He  nodded 
to  Manley  and  lifted  his  hat  while  he  looked  at  her  full; 


58  LONESOME    LAND 

and  Val,  in  the  arrogant  pride  of  virtuous  young  woman- 
hood, let  her  golden-brown  eyes  dwell  impersonally  upon 
his  face;  let  her  white,  round  chin  dip  half  an  inch  down- 
ward, and  then  looked  past  him  as  if  he  were  a  post  by 
the  roadside.  Afterwards  she  smiled  maliciously  when 
she  saw,  with  a  swift,  sidelong  glance,  how  he  scowled  and 
spurred  unnecessarily  his  gray  gelding. 


CHAPTER  V 

COLD  SPRING  RANCH 

FOR  almost  three  years  the  letters  from  Manley  had 
been  headed  "Cold  Spring  Ranch."  For  quite  as 
long  Val  had  possessed  a  mental  picture  of  the  place  —  a 
picture  of  a  gurgly  little  brook  with  rocks  and  watercress 
and  distracting  Httle  pools  the  size  of  a  bathtub,  and  with 
a  great,  frowning  boulder  —  a  cliff,  almost  —  at  the  head. 
The  brook  bubbled  out  and  formed  a  basin  in  the  shadow 
of  the  rock.  Around  it  grew  trees,  unnamed  in  the  picture, 
it  is  true,  but  trees,  nevertheless.  Below  the  spring  stood 
a  picturesque  little  cottage.  A  shack,  Manley  had  written, 
was  but  a  synonym  for  a  small  cottage,  and  Val  had  many 
small  cottages  in  mind,  from  which  she  sketched  one  into 
her  picture.  The  sun  shone  on  it,  and  the  western  breezes 
flapped  white  curtains  in  the  windows,  and  there  was  a 
porch  where  she  would  swing  her  hammock  and  gaze 
out  over  the  great,  beautiful  country,  fascinating  in  its 
very  immensity. 

Somewhere  beyond  the  cottage  —  "shack,"  she  usually 
corrected  herself  —  were  the  corrals;  they  were  as  yet 
rather  impressionistic;  high,  round,  mysterious  inclosures 


60  LONESOME    LAND 

forming  an  effective,  if  somewhat  hazy,  backgromid  to 
the  pictm-e.  She  left  them  to  work  out  their  attractive 
details  upon  closer  acquaintance,  for  at  most  they  were 
merely  the  background.  The  front  yard,  however,  she 
dwelt  upon,  and  made  aglow  with  sturdy,  bright-hued 
flowers.  Manley  had  that  spring  planted  sweet  peas,  and 
poppies,  and  pansies,  and  other  things,  he  wrote  her,  and 
they  had  come  up  very  nicely.  Afterward,  in  a  postscript, 
he  answered  her  oft-repeated  questions  about  the  flower 
garden: 

The  flowers  are  n't  doing  as  well  as  they  might.  They 
need  your  tender  care.  I  don't  have  much  time  to  pet 
them  along.  The  onions  are  doing  pretty  well,  but  they 
need  weeding  badly. 

In  spite  of  that,  the  flowers  bloomed  luxuriantly  in  her 
mental  picture,  though  she  conscientiously  remembered 
that  they  weren't  doing  as  well  as  they  might.  They 
were  weedy  and  unkempt,  she  supposed,  but  a  little  time 
and  care  would  remedy  that;  and  was  she  not  coming 
to  be  the  mistress  of  all  this,  and  to  make  everything 
beautiful?  Besides,  the  spring,  and  the  brook  which  ran 
from  it,  and  the  trees  which  shaded  it,  were  the  chief 
attractions. 

Perhaps  she  betrayed  a  lack  of  domesticity  because 
she  had  not  been  able  to  "see"  the  interior  of  the  cottage 


COLD    SPRING    RANCH  61 

—  "shack"  —  very  clearly.  Sunny  rooms,  white  cur- 
tains, bright  cushions  and  books,  pictures  and  rugs  mingled 
together  rather  confusingly  in  her  mind  when  she  dwelt 
upon  the  inside  of  her  future  home.  It  would  be  bright, 
and  cozy,  and  "homy/'  she  knew.  She  would  love  it 
because  it  would  be  hers  and  Mauley's,  and  she  could 
do  with  it  what  she  would.  She  bothered  about  that  no 
more  than  she  did  about  the  dresses  she  would  be  wearing 
next  year. 

Cold  Spring  Ranch!  Think  of  the  allurement  of  that 
name,  just  as  it  stands,  without  any  disconcerting  qualifi- 
cation whatever!  Any  girl  with  yellow-brown  hair  and 
yellow-brown  eyes  to  match,  and  a  dreamy  temperament 
that  beautifies  everything  her  imagination  touches,  would 
be  sure  to  build  a  veritable  Eve's  garden  around  those 
three  small  words. 

With  that  picture  still  before  her  mental  vision,  clear  as 
if  she  had  all  her  life  been  familiar  with  it  in  reality,  she 
rode  beside  Manley  for  three  weary  hours,  across  a  wide, 
wide  prairie  which  looked  perfectly  level  when  you  viewed 
it  as  a  whole,  but  which  proved  all  hills  and  hollows  when 
you  drove  over  it.  During  those  three  hours  they  passed 
not  one  human  habitation  after  the  first  five  miles  were 
behind  them.  There  had  been  a  ranch,  back  there  against 
a  reddish-yellow  bluff.  Val  had  gazed  upon  it,  and  then 
turned  her  head  away,  distressed  because  human  beings 


62  LONESOME    LAND 

could  consent  to  live  in  such  unattractive  surroundings. 
It  was  bad  in  its  way  as  Hope,  she  thought,  but  did  not 
say,  because  Manley  was  talking  about  his  cattle,  and 
she  did  not  want  to  interrupt  him. 

After  that  there  had  been  no  houses  of  any  sort.  There 
was  a  barbed-wire  fence  stretching  away  and  away  until 
the  posts  were  mere  pencil  lines  against  the  blue,  where 
the  fence  dipped  over  the  last  hill  before  the  sky  bent 
down  and  kissed  the  earth. 

The  length  of  that  fence  was  appalling  in  a  vague, 
wordless  way.  Val  unconsciously  drew  closer  to  her 
husband  when  she  looked  at  it,  and  shivered  in  spite 
of  the  midsummer  heat. 

"You  're  getting  tired."  Manley  put  his  arm  around 
her  and  held  her  there. 

"We  're  over  half-way  now.  A  little  longer  and  we  '11 
be  home."  Then  he  bethought  him  that  she  might  want 
some  preparation  for  that  home-coming.  "You  must  n't 
ex|)ect  much,  little  wife.  It 's  a  bachelor's  house,  so  far. 
You  '11  have  to  do  some  fixing  before  it  will  suit  you.  You 
don't  look  forward  to  anything  like  Fern  Hill,  do  you?" 

Val  laughed,  and  bent  soUcitously  over  the  suitcase, 
which  her  feet  had  marred.  "  Of  course  I  don't.  Nothing 
out  here  is  like  Fern  Hill.  I  know  our  ranch  is  different 
from  anything  I  ever  knew  —  but  I  know  just  how  it 
will  be,  and  how  everything  will  look." 


COLD    SPRING    RANCH  63 

"  Oh !    Do  you?  "   Manley  looked  at  her  a  bit  anxiously. 

"For  three  years,"  Val  reminded  him,  "you  have  been 
describing  things  to  me.  You  told  me  what  it  was  like 
when  you  first  took  the  place.  You  described  every- 
thing, from  Cold  Spring  Coulee  to  the  house  you  built, 
and  the  spring  under  the  rock  wall,  and  even  the 
meadow  lark's  nest  you  found  in  the  weeds.  Of  course  I 
know." 

"It 's  going  to  seem  pretty  rough,  at  first,"  he  observed 
rather  apologetically. 

"Yes  —  but  I  shall  not  mind  that.  I  want  it  to  be 
rough.  I  'm  tired  to  death  of  the  smug  smoothness  of 
my  life  so  far.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  I  have  hated 
Fern  Hill,  these  last  three  years,  especially  since  I  gradu- 
ated. Just  the  same  petty  little  lives  lived  in  the  same 
petty  little  way,  day  in  and  day  out.  Every  Sunday  the 
class  in  Sunday  school,  and  the  bells  ringing  and  the  same 
little  walk  of  four  blocks  there  and  back.  Every  Tuesday 
and  Friday  the  club  meeting  —  the  Merry  Maids,  and 
the  Mascot,  both  just  alike,  where  you  did  the  same  things. 
And  the  same  round  of  calls  with  mamma,  on  the  same 
people,  twice  a  month  the  year  round.  And  the  little 
social  festivities  —  ah,  Manley,  if  you  only  knew  how  I 
long  for  something  rough  and  real  in  my  life!"  It  was 
very  nearly  what  she  said  to  the  tired-faced  teacher  on 
the  train. 


64  LONESOME    LAND 

"  Well,  if  that  ^s  what  you  want,  you  Ve  come  to  the 
right  place,"  he  told  her  dryly. 

Later,  when  they  drew  close  to  a  red  coulee  rim  which 
he  said  was  the  far  side  of  Cold  Spring  Coulee,  she  forgot 
how  tired  she  was,  and  felt  every  nerve  quiver  with 
eagerness. 

Later  still,  when  in  the  glare  of  a  July  sun  they  drove 
around  a  low  knoll,  dipped  into  a  wide,  parched  coulee, 
and  then  came  upon  a  barren  little  habitation  inclosed 
in  a  meager  fence  of  the  barbed  wire  she  thought  so  de- 
testable, she  shut  her  eyes  mentally  to  something  she 
could  not  quite  bring  herself  to  face. 

He  lifted  her  out  and  tumbled  the  great  trunks  upon 
the  ground  before  he  drove  on  to  the  corrals.  "  Here  's 
the  key,"  he  said,  "if  you  want  to  go  in.  I  won't  be  more 
than  a  minute  or  two."  He  did  not  look  into  her  face 
when  he  spoke. 

Val  stood  just  inside  the  gate  and  tried  to  adjust  all 
this  to  her  mental  picture.  There  was  the  front  yard,  for 
instance.  A  few  straggling  vines  against  the  porch,  and 
a  sickly  cluster  or  two  of  blossoms  —  those  were  the 
sweet  peas,  surely.  The  sun-baked  bed  of  pale-green 
plants  without  so  much  as  a  bud  of  promise,  she  recog- 
nized, after  a  second  glance,  as  the  poppies.  For  the 
rest,  there  were  weeds  against  the  fence,  sun-ripened 
grass  trodden  flat,  yellow,  gravelly  patches  where  noth- 


COLD    SPRING    RANCH  Q5 

ing  grew  —  and  a  glaring,  burning  sun  beating  down 
upon  it  all. 

The  cottage  —  never  afterward  did  she  think  of  it  by 
that  name,  but  always  as  a  shack  —  was  built  of  boards 
placed  perpendicularly,  with  battens  nailed  over  the 
cracks  to  keep  out  the  wind  and  the  snow.  At  one  side 
was  a  "lean-to"  kitchen,  and  on  the  other  side  was  the 
porch  that  was  just  a  narrow  platform  with  a  roof  over 
it.  It  was  not  wide  enough  for  a  rocking-chair,  to  say 
nothing  of  swinging  a  hammock.  In  the  first  hasty 
inspection  this  seemed  to  be  about  all.  She  was  still 
hesitating  before  the  door  when  Manley  came  back  from 
putting  up  the  horses. 

"I  'm  afraid  your  flowers  are  a  lost  cause,"  he  remarked 
cheerfully.  "They  were  looking  pretty  good  two  or  three 
weeks  ago.  This  hot  weather  has  dried  them  up.  Next 
year  we  '11  have  water  down  here  to  the  house.  All  these 
things  take  time." 

"Oh,  of  course  they  do."  Val  managed  to  smile  into 
his  eyes.  "Let's  see  how  many  dishes  you  left  dirty; 
bachelors  always  leave  their  dishes  unwashed  on  the 
table,  don't  they?" 

"  Sometimes  —  but  I  generally  wash  mine."  He  led 
the  way  into  the  house,  which  smelled  hot  and  close,  with 
the  odor  of  food  long  since  cooked  and  eaten,  before  he 
threw  all  the  windows  open.    The  front  room  was  clean 


66  LONESOME    LAND 

—  after  a  man's  idea  of  cleanliness.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  an  exceedingly  dusty  carpet,  and  a  rug  or  two.  Her 
latest  photograph  was  nailed  to  the  wall;  and  when  Val 
saw  it  she  broke  into  hysterical  laughter. 

"YouVe  nailed  your  colors  to  the  mast,"  she  cried, 
and  after  that  it  was  all  a  joke.  The  home-made  couch, 
with  the  calico  cushions  and  the  cowhide  spread,  was  a 
matter  for  mirth.  She  sat  down  upon  it  to  try  it,  and  was 
informed  that  chicken  wire  makes  a  fine  spring.  The 
rickety  table,  with  tobacco,  magazines,  and  books  placed 
upon  it  in  orderly  piles,  was  something  to  smile  over. 
The  chairs,  and  especially  the  one  cane  rocker  which  went 
sidewise  over  the  floor  if  you  rocked  in  it  long  enough, 
were  pronounced  original. 

In  the  kitchen  the  same  masculine  idea  of  cleanliness 
and  order  obtained.  The  stove  was  quite  red,  but  it  had 
been  swept  clean.  The  table  was  pushed  against  the  only 
window  there,  and  the  back  part  was  filled  with  glass 
preserve  jars,  cans,  and  a  loaf  of  bread  wrapped  carefully 
in  paper;  but  the  oilcloth  cover  was  clean  —  did  it  not 
show  quite  plainly  the  marks  of  the  last  washing?  Two 
frying  pans  were  turned  bottom  up  on  an  obscure  table 
in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  room,  and  a  zinc  water  pail 
stood  beside  them. 

There  were  other  details  which  impressed  themselves 
upon  her  shrinking  brain,  and  though  she  still  insisted 


COLD    SPRING    RANCH  67 

upon  smiling  at  everything,  she  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  holding  up  her  skirts  quite  unconsciously,  as  if 
she  were  standing  at  a  muddy  street  crossing,  wondering 
how  in  the  world  she  was  ever  going  to  reach  the  other 
side. 

"Is  n*t  it  all  —  deliciously  —  primitive?"  she  asked, 
in  a  weak  little  voice,  when  the  smile  would  stay  no 
longer.  "I  —  love  it,  dear."  That  was  a  lie;  more,  she 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  fibbing  for  the  sake  of  politeness 
or  anything  else,  so  that  the  words  stood  for  a  good 
deal. 

Manley  looked  into  the  zinc  water  pail,  took  it  up,  and 
started  for  an  outer  door,  rattling  the  tin  dipper  as  he 
went.  "Want  to  go  up  to  the  spring?"  he  queried,  over 
his  shoulder.  "  Water  's  the  first  thing  —  I  *m  horribly 
thirsty." 

Val  turned  to  follow  him.  "Oh,  yes  —  the  spring!" 
She  stopped,  however,  as  soon  as  she  had  spoken.  "No, 
dear.    There  '11  be  plenty  of  other  times.    I  '11  stay  here." 

He  gave  her  a  glance  bright  with  love  and  blind  happi- 
ness in  her  presence  there,  and  went  off  whistling  and 
rattling  the  pail  at  his  side. 

Val  did  not  even  watch  him  go.  She  stood  still  in  the 
kitchen  and  looked  at  the  table,  and  at  the  stove,  and  at 
the  upturned  frying  pans.  She  watched  two  great  horse- 
flies buzzing  against  a  window-pane,  and  when  she  could 


68  LONESOME    LAND 

endure  that  no  longer,  she  went  into  the  front  room 
and  stared  vacantly  around  at  the  bare  walls.  When 
she  saw  her  picture  again,  nailed  fast  beside  the 
kitchen  door,  her  face  lost  a  little  of  its  frozen  blank- 
ness  —  enough  so  that  her  lips  quivered  until  she  bit 
them  into  steadiness. 

She  went  then  to  the  door  and  stood  looking  dully  out 
into  the  parched  yard,  and  at  the  wizened  little  pea  vines 
clutching  feebly  at  their  white-twine  trellis.  Beyond 
stretched  the  bare  hills  with  the  wavering  brown  line 
running  down  the  nearest  one  —  the  line  that  she  knew 
was  the  trail  from  town.  She  was  guilty  of  just  one  rebel- 
lious sentence  before  she  struggled  back  to  optimism. 

"I  said  I  wanted  it  to  be  rough,  but  I  did  n't  mean  — 
why,  this  is  just  squahd!"  She  looked  down  the  coulee 
and  glimpsed  the  river  flowing  calmly  past  the  mouth 
of  it,  a  majestic  blue  belt  fringed  sparsely  with  green. 
It  must  be  a  mile  away,  but  it  relieved  wonderfully 
the  monotony  of  brown  hills,  and  the  vivid  coloring 
brightened  her  eyes.  She  heard  Manley  enter  the 
kitchen,  set  down  the  pail  of  water,  and  come  on  to 
where  she  stood. 

"I'd  forgotten  you  said  we  could  see  the  river  from 
here,"  she  told  him,  smiling  over  her  shoulder.  "  It 's 
beautiful,  is  n't  it?  I  don't  suppose,  though,  there  's  a 
boat  within  millions  of  miles." 


COLD    SPRING    RANCH  69 

"Oh,  there's  a  boat  down  there.  It  leaks,  though. 
I  just  use  it  for  ducks,  close  to  shore.  Admiring  our 
view?     Great,  don't  you  think?" 

Val  clasped  her  hands  before  her  and  let  her  gaze  travel 
again  over  the  sweep  of  rugged  hills.  "  It 's  —  wonderful. 
I  thought  I  knew,  but  I  see  I  did  n't.  I  feel  very  small, 
Manley;   does  one  ever  grow  up  to  it?" 

He  seemed  dimly  to  catch  the  note  of  utter  desolation. 
"You  '11  get  used  to  all  that,"  he  assured  her.  "I  thought 
I  'd  reached  the  jumping-off  place,  at  first.  But  now  — 
you  could  n't  dog  me  outa  the  country." 

He  was  slipping  into  the  vernacular,  and  Val  noticed 
it,  and  wondered  dully  if  she  would  ever  do  likewise.  She 
had  not  yet  admitted  to  herself  that  Manley  was  different. 
She  had  told  herself  many  times  that  it  would  take  weeks 
to  wipe  out  the  strangeness  born  of  three  years'  separa- 
tion. He  was  the  same,  of  course;  everything  else  was 
new  and  —  different.  That  was  all.  He  seemed  intensely 
practical,  and  he  seemed  to  feel  that  his  love-making 
had  all  been  done  by  letter,  and  that  nothing  now  remained 
save  the  business  of  living.  So,  when  he  told  her  to  rest, 
and  that  he  would  get  dinner  and  show  her  how  a  bachelor 
kept  house,  she  let  him  go  with  no  reply  save  that  vague, 
impersonal  smile  which  Kent  had  encountered  at  the 
depot. 

While  he  rattled  things  about  in  the  kitchen,  she  stood 


70  LONESOME    LAND 

still  in  the  doorway  with  her  fingers  doubled  into  tight 
little  fists,  and  stared  out  over  the  great,  treeless,  un- 
peopled land  which  had  swallowed  her  alive.  She  tried 
to  think  —  and  then,  in  another  moment,  she  was  trying 
not  to  think. 

Glancing  quickly  over  her  shoulder,  to  make  sure 
Manley  was  too  busy  to  follow  her,  she  went  off  the  porch 
and  stood  uncertain  in  the  parched  inclosure  which  was 
the  front  yard. 

"I  may  as  well  see  it  all,  and  be  done,"  she  whispered, 
and  went  stealthily  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  hold- 
ing up  her  skirts  as  she  had  done  in  the  kitchen.  There 
was  a  dim  path  beaten  in  the  wiry  grass  —  a  path  which 
started  at  the  kitchen  door  and  wound  away  up  the  coulee. 
She  followed  it.  Undoubtedly  it  would  lead  her  to  the 
spring;  beyond  that  she  refused  to  let  her  thoughts 
travel. 

In  &ve  minutes  —  for  she  went  slowly  —  she  stopped 
beside  a  stock-trampled  pool  of  water  and  yellow  mud.  A 
few  steps  farther  on,  a  barrel  had  been  sunk  in  the  ground 
at  the  base  of  a  huge  gray  rock;  a  barrel  which  filled 
slowly  and  spilled  the  overflow  into  the  mud.  There 
was  also  a  trough,  and  there  was  a  barrier  made  of  poles 
and  barbed  wire  to  keep  the  cattle  from  the  barrel.  One 
crawled  between  two  wires,  it  would  seem,  to  dip  up  water 
for  the  house.     There  were  no  trees  —  not  real  trees. 


COLD    SPRING    RANCH  71 

There  were  some  chokecherry  bushes  higher  than  her 
head,  and  there  were  other  bushes  that  did  not  look  par- 
ticularly enlivening. 

With  a  smile  of  bitter  amusement,  she  tucked  her 
skirts  tightly  around  her,  crept  through  the  fence,  and 
filled  a  chipped  granite  cup  which  stood  upon  a  rock 
ledge,  and  drank  slowly.    Then  she  laughed  aloud. 

"The  water  really  i^  cold,"  she  said.  "Anywhere  else 
it  would  be  delicious.  And  that 's  a  spring,  I  suppose." 
Mercilessly  she  was  stripping  her  mind  of  her  illusions, 
and  was  clothing  it  in  the  harsher  weave  of  reality.  "  All 
these  hills  are  Manley^s  —  our  ranch."  She  took  another 
sip  and  set  down  the  cup.  "And  so  Cold  Spring  Ranch 
means  —  all  this." 

Down  the  coulee  she  heard  Manley  call.  She  stood 
still,  pushing  back  a  fallen  lock  of  fine,  yellow  hair.  She 
turned  toward  the  sound,  and  the  sun  in  her  eyes  turned 
them  yellow  as  the  hair  above  them.  She  was  beautiful, 
in  an  odd,  white-and-gold  way.  If  her  eyes  had  been 
blue,  or  gray  —  or  even  brown  —  she  would  have  been 
merely  pretty;  but  as  they  were,  that  amber  tint  where 
one  looked  for  something  else  struck  one  unexpectedly 
and  made  her  whole  face  unforgettably  lovely.  However, 
the  color  of  her  eyes  and  her  hair  did  not  interest  her 
then,  or  make  life  any  easier.  She  was  quite  ordinarily 
miserable  and  homesick,  as  she  went  reluctantly  back 


72  LONESOME    LAND 

along  the  grassy  trail.  The  odor  of  fried  bacon  came  up 
to  her,  and  she  hated  bacon.    She  hated  everything. 

"IVe  been  to  the  spring,"  she  called  out,  resolutely 
cheerful,  as  soon  as  she  came  in  sight  of  Manley,  waiting 
in  the  kitchen  door;  she  ran  toward  him  lightly.  "How- 
ever does  the  water  keep  so  deliciously  cool  through  this 
hot  weather?  I  don't  wonder  you  call  this  Cold  Spring 
Ranch." 

Manley  straightened  proudly.  "  I  'm  glad  you  Hke 
At;  I  was  afraid  you  might  not,  just  at  first.  But  you're 
the  right  stuff  —  I  might  have  known  it.  Not  every 
woman  could  come  out  here  and  appreciate  this  country 
right  at  the  start." 

Val  stopped  at  the  steps,  panting  a  little  from  her  run, 
and  smilec^  unflinchingly  up  into  his  face. 


CHAPTER  VI 

manley's  fire  guard 

HOT  sunlight,  winds  as  hot,  a  shimmering  heat  which 
distorted  objects  at  a  distance  and  made  the  sky- 
line a  dazzling,  wavering  ribbon  of  faded  blue;  and  then 
the  dull  haze  of  smoke  which  hung  over  the  land,  and, 
without  tempering  the  heat,  turned  the  sun  into  a  huge 
coppery  balloon,  which  drifted  imperceptibly  from  the 
east  to  the  west,  and  at  evening  time  settled  softly  down 
upon  a  parched  hilltop  and  disappeared,  leaving  behind 
it  an  ominous  red  glow  as  of  hidden  fires. 

When  the  wind  blew,  the  touch  of  it  seared  the  face, 
as  the  smoke  tang  assailed  the  nostrils.  All  the  world 
was  a  weird,  unnatural  tint,  hard  to  name,  never  to  be 
forgotten.  The  far  horizons  drew  steadily  closer  as  the 
days  passed  slowly  and  thickened  the  veil  of  smoke. 
The  distant  mountains  drew  daily  back  into  dimmer 
distance;  became  an  obscure,  formless  blot  against  the 
sky,  and  vanished  completely.  The  horizon  crouched 
then  upon  the  bluffs  across  the  river,  moved  up  to  the 
line  of  trees  along  its  banks,  blotted  them  out  one  day, 
and  impudently  established  itself  half-way  up  the  coulee. 


74  LONESOME    LAND 

Time  ceased  to  be  measured  accurately;  events  moved 
slowly  in  an  unreal  world  of  sultry  heat  and  smoke  and 
a  red  sun  wading  heavily  through  the  copper-brown 
sky  from  the  east  to  the  west,  and  a  moon  as  red  which 
followed  meekly  after. 

Men  rode  uneasily  here  and  there,  and  when  they  met 
they  talked  of  prairie  fires  and  of  fire  guards  and  the 
direction  of  the  wind,  and  of  the  faint  prospect  of  rain. 
Cattle,  driven  from  their  accustomed  feeding  grounds, 
wandered  aimlessly  over  the  still-unburned  range,  and 
lowed  often  in  the  night  as  they  drifted  before  the  flame- 
heated  wind. 

Fifteen  miles  to  the  east  of  Cold  Spring  Coulee,  the 
Wishbone  outfit  watched  uneasily  the  deepening  haze. 
Kent  and  Bob  Royden  were  put  to  riding  the  range  from 
the  river  north  and  west,  and  Polycarp  Jenks,  who  had 
taken  a  claim  where  were  good  water  and  some  shelter, 
and  who  never  seemed  to  be  there  for  more  than  a  few 
hours  at  a  time,  because  of  his  boundless  curiosity,  wan- 
dered about  on  his  great,  raw-boned  sorrel  with  the  white 
legs,  and  seemed  always  to  have  the  latest  fire  news  on 
the  tip  of  his  tongue,  and  always  eager  to  impart  it  to 
somebody. 

To  the  northwest  there  was  the  Double  Diamond,  also 
sleeping  with  both  eyes  open,  so  to  speak.  They  also  had 
two  men  out  watching  the  range,  though  the  fires  were 


MANLEY'S    FIRE    GUARD       75 

said  to  be  all  across  the  river.  But  there  was  the  railroad 
seaming  the  country  straight  through  the  grassland,  and 
though  the  company  was  prompt  at  plowing  fire  guards, 
contract  work  would  always  bear  watching,  said  the 
stockmen,  and  with  the  high  winds  that  prevailed  there 
was  no  telling  what  might  happen. 

So  Fred  De  Garmo  and  Bill  Madison  patrolled  the 
country  in  rather  desultory  fashion,  if  the  truth  be 
known.  They  liked  best  to  ride  to  the  north  and  east  — 
which,  while  following  faithfully  the  railroad  and  the 
danger  line,  would  bring  them  eventually  to  Hope,  where 
they  never  failed  to  stop  as  long  as  they  dared.  For, 
although  they  never  analyzed  their  feelings,  they  knew 
that  as  long  as  they  kept  their  jobs  and  their  pay  was 
forthcoming,  a  few  miles  of  blackened  range  concerned 
them  personally  not  at  all.  Still,  barring  a  fondness  for 
the  trail  which  led  to  town,  they  were  not  unfaithful  to 
their  trust. 

One  day  Kent  and  Polycarp  met  on  the  brink  of  a  deep 
coulee,  and,  as  is  the  way  of  men  who  ride  the  dim  trails, 
they  stopped  to  talk  a  bit. 

Polycarp,  cracking  his  face  across  the  middle  with  his 
habitual  grin,  straightened  his  right  leg  to  its  full  length, 
slid  his  hand  with  difficulty  into  his  pocket,  brought  up 
a  dirty  fragment  of  "plug"  tobacco,  looked  it  over  in- 
quiringly, and  pried  off  the  corner  with  his  teeth.    When 


76  LONESOME    LAND 

he  had  rolled  it  comfortably  into  his  cheek  and  had 
straightened  his  leg  and  replaced  the  tobacco  in  his 
pocket,  he  was  "all  set"  and  ready  for  conversation. 

Kent  had  taken  the  opportunity  to  roll  a  cigarette, 
though  smoking  on  the  range  was  a  weakness  to  be  in- 
dulged in  with  much  care.  He  pinched  out  the  blaze  of 
his  match,  as  usual,  and  then  spat  upon  it  for  added 
safety  before  throwing  it  away. 

"If  this  heat  does  n't  let  up,"  he  remarked,  "the  grass 
is  going  to  blaze  up  from  sunburn." 

"  It  won't  need  to,  if  you  ask  me.  I  would  n't  be 
su'prised  to  see  this  hull  range  afire  any  time.  Between 
you  an'  me,  Kenneth,  them  Double  Diamond  fellers  ain't 
watching  it  as  close  as  they  might.  I  was  away  over  Dry 
Creek  way  yesterday,  and  I  seen  where  there  was  two 
different  fires  got  through  the  company's  guards,  and 
kited  off  across  the  country.  It  jest  happened  that  the 
grass  give  out  in  that  red  clay  soil,  and  starved  'em  both 
out.  They  wa'n't  put  out.  I  looked  close  all  around,  and 
there  was  n't  nary  a  track  of  man  or  horse.  That 's  their 
business  —  ridin'  line  on  the  railroad.  The  section  men  's 
been  workin'  off  down  the  other  way,  where  a  culvert  got 
scorched  up  pretty  bad.  By  granny,  Fred  'n'  Bill  Madison 
spend  might'  nigh  all  their  time  ridin'  the  trail  to  town. 
They  're  might'  p'ticular  about  watchin'  the  railroad 
between  the  switches  —  he-he!" 


MANLEY'S    FIRE    GUARD       77 

"That 's  something  for  the  Double  Diamond  to  worry 
over,"  Kent  rebuffed.  He  hated  that  sort  of  gossip  which 
must  speak  ill  of  somebody.  "Our  winter  range  lays 
mostly  south  and  east;  we  could  stop  a  fire  between 
here  and  the  Double  Diamond,  even  if  they  let  one  get 
past  'em." 

Polycarp  regarded  him  cunningly  with  his  little,  slitlike 
eyes.  "Mebbe  you  could,"  he  said  doubtfully.  "And 
then  again,  mebbe  you  could  n't.  Oncet  it  got  past  Cold 
Spring  —  "  He  shook  his  wizened  head  slowly,  leaned, 
and  expectorated  gravely. 

"Man  Fleetwood  's  keeping  tab  pretty  close  over  that 
way." 

Polycarp  gave  a  grunt  that  was  half  a  chuckle.  "Man 
Fleetwood  's  keeping  tab  on  what  runs  down  his  gullet," 
he  corrected.  "  I  seen  him  an'  his  wife  out  burnin'  guards 
t'  other  day  —  over  on  his  west  line  —  and,  by  granny,  it 
would  n't  stop  nothing!  A  toad  could  jump  it  —  he-he! ^* 
He  sent  another  stream  of  tobacco  juice  afar,  with  the 
grave  air  as  before. 

"And  I  told  him  so.  'Man,'  I  says,  'what  you  think 
you  're  doilig? ' 

"'Buildin'  a  fire  guard,'  he  says.  'My  wife,  Mr. 
Jenks.' 

"'Polycarp  Jenks  is  my  cognomen,'  I  says.  'And  I 
don't  want  no  misterin'  in  mine.    Polycarp  's  good  enough 


78  LONESOME    LAND 

for  me/  I  says,  and  I  took  off  my  hat  and  bowed  to  'is 
wife.  Funny  kinda  eyes,  she  *s  got  —  ever  take  notice? 
Yeller,  by  granny!  First  time  I  ever  seen  yeller  eyes  in 
a  hmnan's  face.  Mebbe  it  was  the  sun  in  'em,  but  they 
sure  was  yeller.  I  dunno  as  they  hurt  her  looks  none, 
either.  Kinda  queer  lookin',  but  when  you  git  used  to 
'em  you  kinda  like  'em. 

"'N'  I  says:  '  'Tain't  half  wide  enough,  nor  a  third'  — 
spoke  right  up  to  'im !  I  was  thinkin'  of  the  hull  blamed 
country,  and  I  did  n't  care  how  he  took  it.  '  Any  good, 
able-bodied  wind  '11  jump  a  fire  across  that  guard  so  quick 
it  won't  reelize  there  was  any  there,'  I  says. 

"Man  did  n't  like  it  none  too  well,  either.  He  says  to 
me:  'That  guard  '11  stop  any  fire  I  ever  saw,'  and  I  got 
right  back  at  him  —  he-he!  'Man,'  I  says,  'you  ain't 
never  saw  a  prairie  fire'  — just  like  that.  'You  wait,'  I 
says,  'till  the  real  thing  comes  along.  We  ain't  had  any 
fires  since  you  come  into  the  country,'  I  says,  'and  you 
don't  know  what  they  're  like.  Now,  you  take  my  advice 
and  plow  another  four  or  ^Ye  furrows  —  and  plow  'em  out, 
seventy-five  or  a  hundi:ed  feet  from  here,'  I  says,  'an' 
make  sure  you  git  all  the  grass  burned  off  between  —  and 
do  it  on  a  still  day,'  I  says.  'You  '11  burn  up  the  hull 
country  if  you  keep  on  this  here  way  you  're  doing,'  I  told 
him  —  straight  out,  just  like  that.  'And  when  you  do 
it,'  I  says,  'you  better  let  somebody  know,  so  's  they  can 


MANLEY'S    FIRE    GUARD       79 

come  an'  help/  I  says.    ^'Tain't  any  job  a  man  oughta 
tackle  alone/  I  says  to  him.    '  Git  help,  Man,  git  help.' 

"Well,  by  granny  —  he-he!  Man's  wife  brustled  up  at 
me  like  a  —  a  — "  He  searched  his  brain  for  a  simile,  and 
failed  to  find  one.  "'I  have  been  helping  Manley,  Mr. 
Polycarp  Jenks,'  she  says  to  me,  'and  I  flatter  myself  I 
have  done  as  well  as  any  man  could  do.'  And,  by  granny! 
the  way  them  yeller  eyes  of  hern  blazed  at  me — he-he! 
I  had  to  laugh,  jest  to  look  at  her.  Dressed  jest  like  a 
city  girl,  by  granny!  with  ruJSes  on  her  skirts  —  to  ketch 
afire  if  she  was  n't  mighty  keerful!  —  and  a  big  straw  hat 
tied  down  with  a  veil,  and  kid  gloves  on  her  hands,  and 
her  yeller  hair  kinda  fallin'  around  her  face  —  and  them 
yeller  eyes  snappin'  like  flames  —  by  granny!  if  she 
did  n't  make  as  purty  a  picture  as  I  ever  want  to  set  eyes 
on!  Slim  and  straight,  jest  like  a  storybook  woman  — 
he-he!  'Course,  she  was  all  smoke  an'  dirt;  a  big  flake 
of  burned  grass  was  on  her  hair,  I  took  notice,  and  them 
ruffles  was'black  up  to  her  knees  —  he-he!  And  she  had 
a  big  smut  on  her  cheek  —  but  she  was  right  there  with 
her  stack  of  blues,  by  granny!  Settin'  into  the  game  like 
a  —  a — "  He  leaned  and  spat.  "But  burnin'  guards 
ain't  no  work  for  a  woman  to  do,  an'  I  told  Man  so  — 
straight  out.  'You  git  help,'  I  says.  'I  see  you  're  might' 
near  through  with  this  here  strip,'  I  says,  'an'  I  'm  in  a 
hurry,  or  I  'd  stay,  right  now/    And,  by  granny!   if  that 


80  LONESOME    LAND 

there  wife  of  Man's  did  n't  up  an'  hit  me  another  biff  — 
he-he! 

"^  Thank  you  very  much/  she  says  to  me,  Hke  ice  water. 
'When  we  need  your  help,  we  '11  be  sure  to  let  you  know  — 
but  at  present,'  she  says,  *  we  could  n't  think  of  troubling 
you.'  And  then,  by  granny!  she  turns  right  around  and 
smiles  up  at  me  —  he-he!  Made  me  feel  like  somebody  'd 
tickled  m'  ear  with  a  spear  of  hay  when  I  was  asleep,  by 
granny !  Never  felt  anything  like  it  —  not  jest  with  some- 
body smilin'  at  me. 

"'Poly carp  Jenks,'  she  says  to  me,  Ve  do  appreciate 
what  you  've  told  us,  and  I  believe  you  're  right,'  she  says. 
*But  don't  insiniwate  I  'm  not  as  good  a  fighter  as  any 
man  who  ever  breathed,' she  says.  'Manley  has  another 
of  his  headaches  to-day  —  going  to  town  always  gives  him 
a  sick  headache,'  she  says,  '  and  I ' ve  done  nearly  all  of 
this  my  own,  lone  self,'  she  says.  '  And  I  'm  horribly  proud 
of  it,  and  I  '11  never  forgive  you  for  saying  I  — '  And 
then,  by  granny!  if  she  did  n't  begin  to  blink  them  eyes, 
and  I  felt  like  a  —  a  —  "  He  put  the  usual  period  to 
his  hesitation. 

"Between  you  an'  me,  Kenneth,"  he  added,  looking 
at  Kent  slyly,  "she  ain't  having  none  too  easy  a  time. 
Man  's  gone  back  to  drinkin'  —  I  knowed  all  the  time  he 
wouldn't  stay  braced  up  very  long  —  lasted  about  six 
weeks,  from  all  I  c'n  hear.    Mebbe  she  reely  thinks  it 's 


MANLEY'S    FIRE    GUARD       81 

jest  headaches  ails  him  when  he  comes  back  from  town  — 
I  dunno.  You  can't  never  tell  what  idees  a  woman  's  got 
tucked  away  under  her  hair  —  from  all  I  c'n  gether.  I 
don't  p'tend  to  know  nothing  about  'em  —  don't  want 
to  know  —  he-he!  But  I  guess,"  he  hinted  cunningly, 
"I  know  as  much  about  'em  as  you  do  —  hey,  Ken- 
neth ?  You  don't  seem  to  chase  after  'em  none,  yourself 
—  he-he! '' 

"Whereabouts  did  Man  run  his  guards?"  asked  Kent, 
passing  over  the  invitation  to  personal  confessions. 

Poly  carp  gave  a  grunt  of  disdain.  "Just  on  the  west 
rim  of  his  coulee.  About  forty  rod  of  six-foot  guard,  and 
slanted  so  it  '11  shoot  a  fire  right  into  high  grass  at  the 
head  of  the  coulee  and  send  it  kitin'  over  this  way.  That 's 
supposin'  it  turns  a  fire,  which  it  won't.  Six  feet  —  a  fall 
like  this  here!  Why,  I  never  see  grass  so  thick  on  this 
range  —  did  you?" 

"I  wonder,  did  he  burn  that  extra  guard?"  Kent  was 
keeping  himself  rigidly  to  the  subject  of  real  importance. 

"No,  by  granny!  he  didn't  —  not  unless  he  done  it 
since  yest'day.  He  went  to  town  for  suthin,  and  he  might' 
nigh  forgot  to  go  home  —  he-he!  He  was  there  yest'day 
about  three  o'clock,  an'  I  says  to  him  —  " 

"Well,  so-long;  I  got  to  be  moving."  Kent  gathered 
up  the  reins  and  went  his  way,  leaving  Polycarp  just  in 
the  act  of  drawing  his  "plug"  from  his  pocket,  by  his 


82  LONESOME    LAND 

usual  laborious  method,  in  mental  preparation  for  another 
half  hour  of  talk. 

"If  you  're  ridin'  over  that  way,  Kenneth,  you  better 
take  a  look  at  Man's  guard,"  he  called  after  him.  "A 
good  mile  of  guard,  along  there,  would  help  a  lot  if  a  fire 
got  started  beyond.  The  way  he  fixed  it,  it  ain't  no 
account  at  all." 

Kent  proved  by  a  gesture  that  he  heard  him,  and  rode 
on  without  turning  to  look  back.  Already  his  form  was 
blurred  as  Polycarp  gazed  after  him,  and  in  another 
minute  or  two  he  was  blotted  out  completely  by  the  smoke 
veil,  though  he  rode  upon  the  level.  Polycarp  watched 
him  craftily,  though  there  was  no  need,  until  he  was  com- 
pletely hidden,  then  he  went  on,  ruminating  upon  the 
faults  of  his  acquaintances. 

Kent  had  no  intention  of  riding  over  to  Cold  Spring. 
He  had  not  been  there  since  Manley's  marriage,  though 
he  had  been  a  frequent  visitor  before,  and  unless  necessity 
drove  him  there,  it  would  be  long  before  he  faced  again 
the  antagonism  of  Mrs.  Fleetwood.  Still,  he  was  mentally 
uncomfortable,  and  he  felt  much  resentment  against 
Polycarp  Jenks  because  he  had  caused  that  discomfort. 
What  was  it  to  him,  if  Manley  had  gone  back  to  drinking? 
He  asked  the  question  more  than  once,  and  he  answered 
always  that  it  was  nothing  to  him,  of  course.  Still,  he 
wished  futilely  that  he  had  not  been  quite  so  eager  to 


MANLEY'S    FIRE    GUARD       83 

cover  up  Manley's  weakness  and  deceive  the  girl.  He 
ought  to  have  given  her  a  chance  — 

A  cinder  like  a  huge  black  snowflake  struck  him  sud- 
denly upon  the  cheek.  He  looked  up,  startled,  and  tried 
to  see  farther  into  the  haze  which  closed  him  round. 
It  seemed  to  him,  now  that  his  mind  was  turned  from  his 
musings,  that  the  smoke  was  thicker,  the  smell  of  burn- 
ing grass  stronger,  and  the  breath  of  wind  hotter  upon  his 
face.  He  turned,  looked  away  to  the  west,  fancied  there 
a  tumbled  blackness  new  to  his  sight,  and  put  his  horse 
to  a  run.  If  there  were  fire  close,  then  every  second 
counted;  and  as  he  raced  over  the  uneven  prairie  he  fum- 
bled with  the  saddle  string  that  held  a  sodden  sack  tied 
fast  to  the  saddle,  that  he  might  lose  no  time. 

The  cinders  grew  thicker,  until  the  air  was  filled  with 
them,  like  a  snowstorm  done  in  India  ink.  A  little  farther 
and  he  heard  a  faint  crackling;  topped  a  ridge  and  saw 
not  far  ahead,  a  dancing,  yellow  line.  His  horse  was 
breathing  heavily  with  the  pace  he  was  keeping,  but  Kent, 
swinging  away  from  the  onrush  of  flame  and  heat,  spurred 
him  to  a  greater  speed.  They  neared  the  end  of  the  crack- 
ling, red  line,  and  as  Kent  swung  in  behind  it  upon  the 
burned  ground,  he  saw  several  men  beating  steadily  at 
the  flames. 

He  was  hardly  at  work  when  Polycarp  came  running 
up  and  took  his  place  beside  him,  but  beyond  that  Kent 


84  LONESOME    LAND 

paid  no  attention  to  the  others,  though  he  heard  and 
recognized  the  voice  of  Fred  De  Garmo  caUing  out  to 
some  one.  The  smoke  which  rolled  up  in  uneven  vol- 
mnes  as  the  wind  lifted  it  and  bore  it  away,  or  let  it 
suck  backward  as  it  veered  for  an  instant,  blinded  him 
while  he  fought.  He  heard  other  men  gallop  up,  and 
after  a  little  some  one  clattered  up  with  a  wagon  filled 
with  barrels  of  water.  He  ran  to  wet  his  sack,  and  saw 
that  it  was  Blumenthall  himself,  foreman  of  the  Double 
Diamond,  who  drove  the  team. 

"Lucky  it  ain't  as  windy  as  it  was  yesterday  and  the 
day  before,"  Blumenthall  cried  out,  as  Kent  stepped  upon 
the  brake  block  to  reach  a  barrel.  "  It  'd  sweep  the  whole 
country  if  it  was." 

•  Kent  nodded,  and  ran  back  to  the  fire,  trailing  the 
dripping  sack  after  him.  As  he  passed  Polycarp  and  an- 
other, he  heard  Polycarp  saying  something  about  Man 
Fleetwood's  fire  guard;  but  he  did  not  stop  to  hear  what 
it  was.  Polycarp  was  always  talking,  and  he  did  n't 
always  keep  too  closely  to  facts. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  he  saw  men  dimly  when  he  glanced 
down  the  leaping  fire  line,  and  he  knew  that  the  fire  was 
almost  conquered.  Another  frenzied  minute  or  two,  and 
he  was  standing  in  a  group  of  men,  who  dropped  their 
charred,  blackened  fragments  of  blanket  and  bags,  and 
began  to  feel  for  their  smoking  material,   while  they 


MANLEY'S    FIRE    GUARD       85 

stamped  upon  stray  embers  which  looked  live  enough  to 
be  dangerous. 

"Well,  she  's  out,"  said  a  voice.  "But  it  did  look  for 
a  while  as  if  it  'd  get  away  in  spite  of  us." 

Kent  turned  away,  wiping  an  eye  which  held  a  cinder 
fast  under  the  lid.    It  was  Fred  De  Garmo  who  spoke. 

"  If  somebody  'd  been  watchin'  the  railroad  a  leetle 
might  closer  —  "  Poly  carp  began,  in  his  thin,  rasping 
voice. 

Fred  cut  him  short.  "I  thought  you  laid  it  to  Man 
Fleetwood,  burning  fire  guards,"  he  retorted.  "Keep  on, 
and  you  '11  get  it  right  pretty  soon.  This  never  come  from 
the  railroad;  you  can  gamble  on  that." 

Blumenthall  had  left  his  team  and  come  among  them. 
"If  you  want  to  know  how  it  started,  I  can  tell  you. 
Somebody  dropped  a  match,  or  a  cigarette,  or  something, 
by  the  trail  up  here  a  ways.  I  saw  where  it  started  when 
I  went  to  Cold  Spring  after  the  last  load  of  water.  And 
if  I  knew  who  it  was  —  " 

Polycarp  launched  his  opinion  first,  as  usual.  "Well, 
I  don't  know  who  done  it  —  but,  by  granny!  I  can  might' 
nigh  guess  who  it  was.  There  's  jest  one  man  that  I  know 
of  been  traveling  that  trail  lately  when  he  wa'n't  in  his 
sober  senses  —  " 

Here  Manley  Fleetwood  rode  up  to  them,  coughing  at 
the  soot  his  horse  kicked  up.    "Say!  you  fellows  come  on 


86  LONESOME    LAND 

over  to  the  house  and  have  something  to  eat  —  and,"  he 
added  significantly,  "something  wet.  I  told  my  wife, 
when  I  saw  the  fire,  to  make  plenty  of  coffee,  for  fighting 
fire  's  hungry  work,  let  me  tell  you.  Come  on  —  no  hang- 
ing back,  you  know.  There  '11  be  lots  of  coffee,  and  I  Ve 
got  a  quart  of  something  better  cached  in  the  haystack!'' 
As  he  had  said,  fighting  fire  is  hungry  work,  and  none 
save  Blumenthall,  who  was  dyspeptic  and  only  ate  twice 
a  day,  and  then  of  certain  foods  prepared  by  himself, 
declined  the  invitation. 


CHAPTER  VII 

val's  new  duties 

To  Val  the  days  of  heat  and  smoke,  and  the  isolation, 
had  made  Hfe  seem  unreal,  like  a  dream  which  holds 
one  fast  and  yet  is  absurd  and  utterly  improbable.  Her 
past  was  pushed  so  far  from  her  that  she  could  not  even 
long  for  it  as  she  had  done  during  the  first  few  weeks. 
There  were  nights  of  utter  desolation,  when  Manley  was 
in  town  upon  some  errand  which  prevented  his  speedy 
return  —  nights  when  the  coyotes  howled  much  louder 
than  usual,  and  she  could  not  sleep  for  the  mysterious 
snapping  and  creaking  about  the  shack,  but  lay  shivering 
with  fear  until  dawn;  but  not  for  worlds  would  she  have 
admitted  to  Manley  her  dread  of  staying  alone.  She  be- 
lieved it  to  be  necessary,  or  he  would  not  require  it  of  her, 
and  she  wanted  to  be  all  that  he  expected  her  to  be.  She 
was  very  sensitive,  in  those  days,  about  doing  her  whole 
duty  as  a  wife  —  the  wife  of  a  Western  rancher. 

For  that  reason,  when  Manley  shouted  to  her  the  news 
of  the  fire  as  he  galloped  past  the  shack,  and  told  her  to 
have  something  for  the  men  to  eat  when  the  fire  was  out, 
she  never  thought  of  demurring,  or  explaining  to  him  that 


88  LONESOME    LAND 

there  was  scarcely  any  wood,  and  that  she  could  not  cook 
a  meal  without  fuel.  Instead,  she  waved  her  hand  to  him 
and  let  him  go;  and  when  he  was  quite  out  of  sight  she 
went  up  to  the  corrals  to  see  if  she  could  find  another 
useless  pole,  or  a  broken  board  or  two  which  her  slight 
strength  would  be  sufficient  to  break  up  with  the  axe.  Till 
she  came  to  Montana,  Val  had  never  taken  an  axe  in  her 
hands;  but  its  use  was  only  one  of  the  many  things  she 
must  learn,  of  which  she  had  all  her  life  been  ignorant. 

There  was  an  old  post  there,  lying  beside  a  rusty,  over- 
turned plow.  More  than  once  she  had  stopped  and  eyed 
it  speculatively,  and  the  day  before  she  had  gone  so  far 
as  to  lift  an  end  of  it  tentatively;  but  she  had  found  it 
very  heavy,  and  she  had  also  disturbed  a  lot  of  black 
bugs  that  went  scurrying  here  and  there,  so  that  she  was 
forced  to  gather  her  skirts  close  about  her  and  run  for 
her  life. 

Where  Manley  had  built  his  hayrack  she  had  yester- 
day discovered  some  ends  of  planking  hidden  away  in 
the  rank,  ripened  weeds  and  grass.  She  went  there  now, 
but  there  were  no  more,  look  closely  as  she  might.  She 
circled  the  evil-smelling  stable  in  discouragement,  picked 
up  one  short  piece  of  rotten  board,  and  came  back  to  the 
post.  As  she  neared  it  she  involuntarily  caught  her  skirts 
and  held  them  close,  in  terror  of  the  black  bugs. 

She  eyed  it  with  extreme  disfavor,  and  finally  ventured 


VAL'S    NEW    DUTIES  89 

to  poke  it  with  her  sUpper  toe;  one  lone  bug  scuttled 
out  and  away  in  the  tall  weeds.  With  the  piece  of  board 
she  turned  it  over,  stared  hard  at  the  yellowed  grass 
beneath,  discovered  nothing  so  very  terrifying  after  all, 
and,  in  pure  desperation,  dragged  the  post  laboriously 
down  to  the  place  where  had  been  the  woodpile.  Then, 
lifting  the  heavy  axe,  she  went  awkwardly  to  work  upon 
it,  and  actually  succeeded,  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour 
or  so,  in  worrying  an  armful  of  splinters  off  it. 

She  started  a  fire,  and  then  she  had  to  take  the  big 
zinc  pail  and  carry  some  water  down  from  the  spring  before 
she  could  really  begin  to  cook  anything.  Mauley's  work, 
every  bit  of  it  —  but  then  Manley  was  so  very  busy,  and 
he  could  n't  remember  all  these  little  things,  and  Val 
hated  to  keep  reminding  him.  Theoretically,  Manley 
objected  to  her  chopping  wood  or  carrying  water,  and 
always  seemed  to  feel  a  personal  resentment  when  he 
discovered  her  doing  it.  Practically,  however,  he  was 
more  and  more  often  making  it  necessary  for  her  to  do 
these  things. 

That  is  why  he  returned  with  the  fire  fighters  and  found 
Val  just  laying  the  cloth  upon  the  table,  which  she  had 
moved  into  the  front  room  so  that  there  would  be  space 
to  seat  her  guests  at  all  four  sides.  He  frowned  when 
he  looked  in  and  saw^^that  they  must  wait  indefinitely, 
and  her  cheeks  took  on  a  deeper  shade  of  pink. 


90  LONESOME    LAND 

"Everything  will  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,"  she  hur- 
riedly assured  him.    "How  many  are  there,  dear?" 

"Eight,  counting  myself,"  he  answered  gruffly.  "Get 
some  clean  towels,  and  we  '11  go  up  to  the  spring  to  wash; 
and  try  and  have  dinner  ready  when  we  get  back  —  we  're 
half  starved."  With  the  towels  over  his  arm,  he  led  the 
way  up  to  the  spring.  He  must  have  taken  the  trail  which 
led  past  the  haystack,  for  he  returned  in  much  better 
humor,  and  introduced  the  men  to  his  wife  with  the 
genial  air  of  a  host  who  loves  to  entertain  largely. 

Val  stood  back  and  watched  them  file  in  to  the  table 
and  seat  themselves  with  a  noisy  confusion.  Unpolished 
they  were,  in  clothes  and  manner,  though  she  dimly 
appreciated  the  way  in  which  they  refrained  from  looking 
at  her  too  intently,  and  the  conscious  lowering  of  their 
voices  while  they  talked  among  themselves. 

They  did,  however,  glance  at  her  surreptitiously  while 
she  was  moving  quietly  about,  with  her  flushed  cheeks 
and  her  yellow-brown  hair  falling  becomingly  down  at  the 
temples  because  she  had  not  found  a  spare  minute  in  which 
to  brush  it  smooth,  and  her  dainty  dress  and  crisp,  white 
apron.  She  was  not  like  the  women  they  were  accus- 
tomed to  meet,  and  they  paid  her  the  high  tribute  of  being 
embarrassed  by  her  presence. 

She  poured  coffee  until  all  the  cups  were  full,  replenished 
the  bread  plate  and  brought  more  butter,  and  hunted  the 


VAL'S    NEW    DUTIES  91 

kitchen  over  for  the  can  opener,  to  punch  little  holes 
in  another  can  of  condensed  cream;  and  she  rather 
astonished  her  guests  by  serving  it  in  a  beautiful 
cut-glass  pitcher  instead  of  the  can  in  which  it  was 
bought. 

They  handled  the  pitcher  awkwardly  because  of  their 
mental  uneasiness,  and  Val  shared  with  them  their  fear 
of  breaking  it,  and  was  guilty  of  an  audible  sigh  of  relief 
when  at  last  it  found  safety  upon  the  table. 

So  perturbed  was  she  that  even  when  she  decided  that 
she  could  do  no  more  for  their  comfort  and  retreated  to 
the  kitchen,  she  failed  to  realize  that  the  one  extra  plate 
meant  an  absent  guest,  and  not  a  miscount  in  placing 
them,  as  she  fancied. 

She  remembered  that  she  would  need  plenty  of  hot 
water  to  wash  all  those  dishes,  and  the  zinc  pail  was  empty; 
it  always  was,  it  seemed  to  her,  no  matter  how  often  she 
filled  it.  She  took  the  tin  dipper  out  of  it,  so  that  it  would 
not  rattle  and  betray  her  purpose  to  Manley,  sitting  just 
inside  the  door  with  his  back  toward  her,  and  tiptoed 
quite  guiltily  out  of  the  kitchen.  Once  well  away  from 
the  shack,  she  ran. 

She  reached  the  spring  quite  out  of  breath,  and  she 
actually  bumped  into  a  man  who  stood  carefully  rinsing 
a  bloodstained  handkerchief  under  the  overflow  from 
the  horse  trough.    She  gave  a  little  scream,  and  the  pail 


n  LONESOME    LAND 

went  rolling  noisily  down  the  steep  bank  and  lay  on  its 
side  in  the  mud. 

Kent  turned  and  looked  at  her,  himself  rather  startled 
by  the  unexpected  collision.  Involuntarily  he  threw  out 
his  hand  to  steady  her.  "How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Fleet- 
wood?" he  said,  with  all  the  composure  he  could  muster 
to  his  aid.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  scared  you.  My  nose  got  to 
bleeding  —  with  the  heat,  I  guess.  I  just  now  managed 
to  stop  it."  He  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  ex- 
plain his  presence,  but  he  did  feel  that  talking  would 
help  her  recover  her  breath  and  her  color.  "It's  a 
plumb  nuisance  to  have  the  nosebleed  so  much,"  he 
added  plaintively. 

Val  was  still  trembling  and  staring  up  at  him  with  her 
odd,  yellow-brown  eyes.  He  glanced  at  her  swiftly,  and 
then  bent  to  squeeze  the  water  from  his  handkerchief; 
but  his  trained  eyes  saw  her  in  all  her  dainty  allurement; 
saw  how  the  coppery  sunlight  gave  a  strange  glint  to  her 
hair,  and  how  her  eyes  almost  matched  it  in  color,  and 
how  the  pupils  had  widened  with  fright.  He  saw,  too, 
something  wistful  in  her  face,  as  though  life  was  none 
too  kind  to  her,  and  she  had  not  yet  abandoned  her 
first  sensation  of  pained  surprise  that  it  should  treat 
her  so. 

"That 's  what  I  get  for  running,"  she  said,  still  pant- 
ing a  little  as  she  watched  him.    "I  thought  all  the  men 


VAL'S    NEW    DUTIES  93 

were  at  the  table,  you  see.  Your  dinner  will  be  cold, 
Mr.  Burnett." 

Kent  was  a  bit  surprised  at  the  absence  of  cold  hauteur 
in  her  manner;  his  memory  of  her  had  been  so  different. 

"Well,  I  'm  used  to  cold  grub,"  he  smiled  over  his 
shoulder.  "And,  anyway,  when  your  nose  gets  to  acting 
up  with  you,  it 's  like  riding  a  pitching  horse;  you  Ve  got 
to  pass  up  everything  and  give  it  all  your  time  and  atten- 
tion." Then,  with  the  daring  that  sometimes  possessed 
him  like  a  devil,  he  looked  straight  at  her. 

"Sure  you  intend  to  give  me  my  dinner?"  he  quizzed, 
his  lips  lifting  humorously  at  the  corners.  "I  kinda 
thought,  from  the  way  you  turned  me  down  cold  when 
we  met  before,  you  'd  shut  your  door  in  my  face  if  I  came 
pestering  around.    How  about  that?" 

Little  flames  of  light  flickered  in  her  eyes.  "You  are 
the  guest  of  my  husband,  here  by  his  invitation,"  she 
answered  him  coldly.  "Of  course  I  shall  give  you  your 
dinner,  if  you  want  any." 

He  inspected  his  handkerchief  critically,  decided  that 
it  was  not  quite  clean,  and  held  it  again  under  the  stream 
of  water.  "If  I  want  it  —  yes,"  he  drawled  maliciously. 
"Maybe  I  'm  not  sure  about  that  part.  Are  you  a  pretty 
fair  cook?  " 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  interview  your  friends,"  she 
retorted,  "if  you  are  so  very  fastidious.    I  — "    She  drew 


94  LONESOME    LAND 

her  brows  together,  as  if  she  was  in  doubt  as  to  the  proper 
method  of  deaUng  with  this  impertinence.  She  suspected 
that  he  was  teasing  her  purposely,  but  still  — 

"Oh,  I  can  eat  'most  any  old  thing,''  he  assured  her, 
with  calm  effrontery.  "You  look  as  if  you'd  learn 
easy,  and  Man  ain't  the  worst  cook  I  ever  ate  after. 
If  he  's  trained  you  faithful,  maybe  it  '11  be  safe  to  take 
a  chance.  How  about  that?  Can  you  make  sour-dough 
bread  yet? " 

"No!"  she  flung  the  word  at  him.  "And  I  don't  want 
to  learn,"  she  added,  at  the  expense  of  her  dignity. 

Kent  shook  his  head  disapprovingly.  "That  sure  ain't 
the  proper  spirit  to  show,"  he  commented.  "Man  must 
have  to  beat  you  up  a  good  deal,  if  you  talk  back  to  him 
that  way."  He  eyed  her  sidelong.  "You  're  a  real  little 
wolf,  aren't  you?"  He  shook  his  head  again  solemnly, 
and  sighed.  "A  fellow  sure  must  build  himself  lots  of 
trouble  when  he  annexes  a  wife  —  a  wife  that  won't  learn 
to  make  sour-dough  bread,  and  that  talks  back.  I  'm 
plumb  sorry  for  Man.  We  used  to  be  pretty  good 
friends — "    He  stopped  short,  his  face  contrite. 

Val  was  looking  away,  and  she  was  winking  very  fast. 
Also,  her  lips  were  quivering  unmistakably,  though  she 
was  biting  them  to  keep  them  steady. 

Kent  stared  at  her  helplessly.  "Say!  I  never  thought 
you  'd  mind  a  little  joshing,"  he  said  gently,  when  the 


VAL'S    NEW    DUTIES  95 

silence  was  growing  awkward.  "I  ought  to  be  killed! 
You  —  you  must  get  awful  lonesome  — " 

She  turned  her  face  toward  him  quickly,  as  if  he  were 
the  first  person  who  had  understood  her  blank  loneliness. 
"That,"  she  told  him,  in  an  odd,  hesitating  manner, 
"atones  for  the  —  the  'joshing/  No  one  seems  to 
realize  —  " 

"Why  don't  you  get  out  and  ride  around,  or  do  some- 
thing beside  stick  right  here  in  this  coulee  like  a  —  a 
cactus?"  he  demanded,  with  a  roughness  that  somehow 
was  grateful  to  her.  "  I  '11  bet  you  have  n't  been  a  mile 
from  the  ranch  since  Man  brought  you  here.  Why  don't 
you  go  to  town  with  him  when  he  goes?  It  'd  be  a  whole 
lot  better  for  you  —  for  both  of  you.  Have  you  got  ac- 
quainted with  any  of  the  women  here  yet?  I  '11  gamble 
you  haven't!"  He  was  waving  the  handkerchief  gently 
like  a  flag,  to  dry  it. 

Val  watched  him;  she  had  never  seen  any  one  hold  a 
handkerchief  by  the  corners  and  wave  it  up  and  down 
like  that  for  quick  drying,  and  the  expedient  interested 
her,  even  while  she  was  wondering  if  it  was  quite  proper  for 
him  to  lecture  her  in  that  manner.  His  scolding  was 
even  more  confusing  than  his  teasing. 

"I've  been  down  to  the  river  twice,"  she  defended 
weakly,  and  was  angry  with  herself  that  she  could  not 
find  words  with  which  to  quell  him. 


96  LONESOME    LAND 

"Really?"  He  smiled  down  at  her  indulgently.  "How 
did  you  ever  manage  to  get  so  far?  It  must  be  all  of  half 
a  mile!" 

"Oh,  you  're  perfectly  horrible!"  she  flashed  suddenly. 
"I  don't  see  how  it  can  possibly  concern  you  whether  I 
go  anywhere  or  not." 

"  It  does,  though.  I  'm  a  lot  pubhc-spirited.  I  hate 
to  see  taxes  go  up,  and  every  lunatic  that  goes  to  the 
asylum  costs  the  State  just  that  much  more.  I  don't 
know  an  easier  recipe  for  going  crazy  than  just  to  stay  off 
alone  and  think.  It 's  a  fright  the  way  it  gets  sheep-herders, 
and  such." 

"I  'm  siich,  I  suppose!" 

Kent  glanced  at  her,  approved  mentally  of  the  color  in 
her  cheeks  and  the  angry  light  in  her  eyes,  and  laughed 
at  her  quite  openly. 

"  There 's  nothing  like  getting  good  and  mad  once 
in  a  while,  to  take  the  kinks  out  of  your  brain,"  he  ob- 
served. "And  there's  nothing  like  lonesomeness  to  put 
*em  in.  A  good  fighting  mad  is  what  you  need,  now  and 
then;  I  '11  have  to  put  Man  next,  I  guess.  He  's  too 
mild." 

"No  one  could  accuse  you  of  that,"  she  retorted,  laugh- 
ing a  little  in  spite  of  herself.  "  If  I  were  a  man  I  should 
want  to  blacken  your  eyes — "  And  she  blushed  hotly 
at  being  betrayed  into  a  personality  which  seemed  to  hev 


VAL'S    NEW    DUTIES  97 

undignified,  and,  what  was  worse,  unrefined.  She  turned 
her  back  squarely  toward  him,  started  down  the  path, 
and  remembered  that  she  had  not  filled  the  water  bucket, 
and  that  without  it  she  could  not  consistently  return  to  the 
house. 

Kent  interpreted  her  glance,  went  sliding  down  the 
steep  bank  and  recovered  the  pail;  he  was  laughing  to 
himself  while  he  rinsed  and  filled  it  at  the  spring,  but  he 
made  no  effort  to  explain  his  amusement.  When  he  came 
back  to  where  she  stood  watching  him,  Val  gave  her 
head  a  slight  downward  tilt  to  indicate  her  thanks,  turned, 
and  led  the  way  back  to  the  house  without  a  word.  And 
he,  following  after,  watched  her  slim  figure  swinging 
lightly  down  the  hill  before  him,  and  wondered  vaguely 
what  sort  of  a  hell  her  life  was  going  to  be,  out  here 
where  everything  was  different  from  what  she  had  been 
accustomed  to,  and  where  she  did  not  seem  to  "fit  into 
the  scenery,"  as  he  put  it. 

"You  ought  .to  learn  to  ride  horseback,"  he  advised 
unexpectedly. 

"Pardon  me  —  you  ought  to  learn  to  wait  until  your 
advice  is  wanted,"  she  replied  calmly,  without  turning 
her  head.  And  she  added,  with  a  sort  of  defiance:  "I 
do  not  feel  the  need  of  either  society  or  diversion,  I  assure 
you;  I  am  perfectly  contented." 

"That 's  real  nice,"  he  approved,    "There 's  nothing 


98  LONESOME    LAND 

like  being  satisfied  with  what's  handed  out  to  you." 
But,  though  he  spoke  with  much  unconcern,  his  tone 
betrayed  his  skepticism. 

The  others  had  finished  eating  and  were  sitting  upon 
their  heels  in  the  shade  of  the  house,  smoking  and  talking 
in  that  desultory  fashion  common  to  men  just  after  a 
good  meal.  Two  or  three  glanced  rather  curiously  at 
Kent  and  his  companion,  and  he  detected  the  covert  smile 
on  the  scandal-hungry  face  of  Polycarp  Jenks,  and  also 
the  amused  twist  of  Fred  De  Garmo's  lips.  He  went 
past  them  without  a  sign  of  understanding,  set  the  water 
pail  down  in  its  proper  place  upon  a  bench  inside  the 
kitchen  door,  tilted  his  hat  to  Val,  who  happened  to  be 
looking  toward  him  at  that  moment,  and  went  out  again. 

"What's  the  hurry,  Kenneth?"  quizzed  Polycarp, 
when  Kent  started  toward  the  corral. 

"  Follow  my  trail  long  enough  and  you  '11  find  out  — 
maybe,"  Kent  snapped  in  reply.  He  felt  that  the  whole 
group  was  watching  him,  and  he  knew  that  if  he  looked 
back  and  caught  another  glimpse  of  Fred  De  Garmo's 
sneering  face  he  would  feel  compelled  to  strike  it  a  blow. 
There  would  be  no  plausible  explanation,  of  course,  and 
Kent  was  not  by  nature  a  trouble  hunter;  and  so  he 
chose  to  ride  away  without  his  dinner. 

While  Polycarp  was  still  wondering  audibly  what  was 
the  matter,  Kent  passed  the  house  on  his  gray,  called 


VAL'S    NEW    DUTIES  99 

"So-long,  Man,"  with  scarcely  a  glance  at  his  host,  and 
speedily  became  a  dim  figure  in  the  smoke  haze. 

"He  must  be  runnin'  away  from  you,  Fred,"  Polycarp 
hinted,  grinning  cunningly.  "What  you  done  to  him  — 
hey?" 

Fred  answered  him  with  an  unsatisfactory  scowl.  "You 
sure  would  be  wise,  if  you  found  out  everything  you 
wanted  to  know,"  he  said  contemptuously,  after  an  ap- 
preciable wait.  "I  guess  we  better  be  moving  along, 
Bill."  He  rose,  brushed  off  his  trousers  with  a  downward 
sweep  of  his  hands,  and  strolled  toward  the  corrals,  fol- 
lowed languidly  by  Bill  Madison. 

As  if  they  had  been  waiting  for  a  leader,  the  others 
rose  also  and  prepared  to  depart.  Polycarp  proceeded, 
in  his  usual  laborious  manner,  to  draw  his  tobacco  from 
his  pocket,  and  pry  off  a  corner. 

"Why  don't  you  burn  them  guards  now,  Manley, 
while  you  got  plenty  of  help?"  he  suggested,  turning  his 
slit-lidded  eyes  toward  the  kitchen  door,  where  Val  ap- 
peared for  an  instant  to  reach  the  broom  which  stood 
outside. 

"Because  I  don't  want  to,"  snapped  Manley.  "I've 
got  plenty  to  do  without  that." 

"Well,  they  ain't  wide  enough,  nor  long  enough,  and 
they  don't  run  in  the  right  direction  —  if  you  ask  me." 
Polycarp  spat  solemnly  off  to  the  right. 


100  LONESOME    LAND 

"I  don't  ask  you,  as  it  happens."  Manley  turned  and 
went  into  the  house. 

Polycarp  looked  quizzically  at  the  closed  door.  "He 's 
mighty  touchy  about  them  guards,  for  a  feller  that  thinks 
they  're  all  right  —  he-he! "  he  remarked,  to  no  one  in 
particular.  "Some  of  these  days,  by  granny,  he  '11  wisht 
he  'd  took  my  advice!" 

Since  no  one  gave  him  the  slightest  attention,  Polycarp 
did  not  pursue  the  subject  further.  Instead,  with  both 
ears  open  to  catch  all  that  was  said,  he  trailed  after  the 
others  to  the  corral.  It  was  a  matter  of  instinct,  as  well 
as  principle,  with  Polycarp  Jenks,  to  let  no  sentence,  how- 
ever trivial,  slip  past  his  hearing  and  his  memory. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  PRAIRIE  FIRE 

A  CALAMITY  expected,  feared,  and  guarded  against 
by  a  whole  community  does  sometimes  occur,  and 
with  a  suddenness  which  finds  the  victims  unprepared  in 
spite  of  all  their  elaborate  precautions.  Compared  with 
the  importance  of  saving  the  range  from  fire,  it  was  but 
a  trivial  thing  which  took  nearly  every  man  who  dwelt  in 
Lonesome  Land  to  town  on  a  certain  day  when  the  wind 
blew  free  from  out  the  west.  They  were  weary  of 
watching  for  the  fire  which  did  not  come  licking  through 
the  prairie  grass,  and  a  special  campaign  train  bearing  a 
prospective  President  of  our  United  States  was  expected 
to  pass  through  Hope  that  afternoon. 

Since  all  trains  watered  at  the  red  tank  by  the  creek, 
there  would  be  a  five-minute  stop,  during  which  the 
prospective  President  would  stand  upon  the  rear  plat- 
form and  deliver  a  three-minute  address  —  a  few  gracious 
words  to  tickle  the  self-esteem  of  his  listeners  —  and 
would  employ  the  other  two  minutes  in  shaking  the  hand 
of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  who  could  reach  him 
before  the  train  pulled  out.    There  would  be  a  cheer  or 


10^  LONESOME    LAND 

twof  given  as  he  was  borne  away  —  and  there  would  be 
something  .to  talk  about  afterward  in  the  saloons.  Scarce 
a  man  of  them  had  ever  seen  a  President,  and  it  was  worth 
riding  far  to  look  upon  a  man  who  even  hoped  for  so 
exalted  a  position. 

Manley  went  because  he  intended  to  vote  for  the  man, 
and  called  it  an  act  of  loyalty  to  his  party  to  greet  the 
candidate;  also  because  it  took  very  little,  now  that  hay- 
ing was  over  and  work  did  not  press,  to  start  him  down 
the  trail  in  the  direction  of  Hope. 

At  the  Blumenthall  ranch  no  man  save  the  cook  re^ 
mained  at  home,  and  he  only  because  he  had  a  boil  on 
his  neck  which  sapped  his  interest  in  all  things  else.  Poly- 
carp  Jenks  was  in  town  by  nine  o'clock,  and  only  one 
man  remained  at  the  Wishbone.  That  man  was  Kent, 
and  he  stayed  because,  according  to  his  outraged  com- 
panions, he  was  an  ornery  cuss,  and  his  bump  of  patriot- 
ism was  a  hollow  in  his  skull.  Kent  had  told  them,  one 
and  all,  that  he  would  n't  ride  twenty-five  miles  to  shake 
hands  with  the  Deity  Himself  —  which,  however,  is  not 
a  verbatim  report  of  his  statement.  The  prospective 
President  had  not  done  anything  so  big,  he  said,  that  a 
man  should  want  to  break  his  neck  getting  to  town  just 
to  watch  him  go  by.  He  was  dead  sure  he,  for  one,  was  n't 
going  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  over  any  swell-headed 
politician. 


THE    PRAIRIE    FIRE  lOS 

Still,  he  saddled  and  rode  with  his  fellows  for  a  mile  or 
two,  and  called  them  unseemly  names  in  a  facetious  tone; 
and  the  men  of  the  Wishbone  answered  his  taunts  with 
shrill  yells  of  derision  when  he  swung  out  of  the  trail  and 
jogged  away  to  the  south,  and  finally  passed  out  of 
sight  in  the  haze  which  still  hung  depressingly  over  the 
land. 

Oddly  enough,  while  all  the  able-bodied  men  save  Kent 
were  waiting  hilariously  in  Hope  to  greet,  with  enthusiasm, 
the  brief  presence  of  the  man  who  would  fain  be  their 
political  chief,  the  train  which  bore  him  eastward  scat- 
tered fiery  destruction  abroad  as  it  sped  across  their 
range,  four  minutes  late  and  straining  to  make  up  the 
time  before  the  next  stop. 

They  had  thought  the  railroad  safe  at  last,  what  with 
the  guards  and  the  numerous  burned  patches  where  the 
fire  had  jumped  the  plowed  boundary  and  blackened  the 
earth  to  the  fence  which  marked  the  line  of  the  right  of 
way,  and,  in  some  places,  had  burned  beyond.  It  took 
a  flag-flying  special  train  of  that  bitter  Presidential  cam- 
paign to  find  a  weak  spot  in  the  guard,  and  to  send  a  spark 
straight  into  the  thickest  bunch  of  wiry  sand  grass,  where 
the  wind  could  fan  it  to  a  blaze  and  then  seize  it  and  bend 
the  tall  flame  tongues  until  they  licked  around  the  next 
tuft  of  grass,  and  the  next,  and  the  next  —  until  the 
spark  was  grown  to  a  long,  leaping  line  of  fire,  sweeping 


104  LONESOME    LAND 

eastward  with  the  relentless  rush  of  a  tidal  wave  upon 
a  low-lying  beach. 

Arline  Hawley  was,  perhaps,  the  only  citizen  of  Hope 
who  had  deliberately  chosen  to  absent  herself  from  the 
crowd  standing,  in  perspiring  expectation,  upon  the  depot 
platform.  She  had  permitted  Minnie,  the  "breed"  girl, 
to  go,  and  had  even  grudgingly  consented  to  her  using 
a  box  of  cornstarch  as  first  aid  to  her  complexion.  Arline 
had  not  approved,  however,  of  either  the  complexion  or 
the  occasion. 

"What  you  want  to  go  and  plaster  your  face  up  with 
starch  for,  gits  me,"  she  had  criticised  frankly.  "Seems 
to  me  you  're  homely  enough  without  lookin'  silly,  into 
the  bargain.  Nobody  's  going  to  look  at  you,  no  matter 
what  you  do.  They  're  out  to  rubber  at  a  higher  mark 
than  you  be.  And  what  they  expect  to  see  so  great,  gits 
me.  He  ain't  nothing  but  a  man  —  and,  land  knows, 
men  is  common  enough,  and  ornery  enough,  without 
runnin'  like  a  band  of  sheep  to  see  one.  I  don't  see  as 
he  's  anny  better,  jest  because  he's  runnin'  for  President; 
if  he  gits  beat,  he  '11  want  to  hide  his  head  in  a  hole  in  the 
ground.  Look  at  my  Walt.  He  was  the  biggest  man  in 
Hope,  and  so  swell-headed  he  would  n't  so  much  as  pack 
a  bucket  of  water  all  fall,  or  chop  up  a  tie  for  kindlin'  — 
till  the  day  after  'lection.  And  what  was  he  then  but  a 
frazzled-out  back  number,  that  everybody  give  the  laugh — 


THE    PRAIRIE    FIRE  105 

till  he  up  and  bio  wed  his  brains  out!    Any  fool  can  run 
for  President  —  it 's  the  feller  that  gits  there  that  counts. 

"Say,  that  red-white-'n'-blue  ribbon  sure  looks  fierce 
on  that  green  dress  —  but  I  reckon  blood  will  tell,  even 
if  it 's  Injun  blood.  GVan,  or  you  '11  be  late  and  have 
yoiu"  trouble  for  your  pay.  But  hurry  back  soon  's  the 
agony  's  over;  the  bread  '11  be  ready  to  mix  out." 

Even  after  the  girl  was  gone,  her  finery  a-flutter  in 
the  sweeping  west  wind,  Arline  muttered  aloud  her 
opinion  of  men,  and  particularly  of  politicians  who  rode 
about  in  special  trains  and  expected  the  homage  of  their 
fellows. 

She  was  in  the  back  yard,  taking  her  "white  clothes" 
off  the  line,  when  the  special  came  puflSng  slowly  into 
town.  To  emphasize  her  disapproval  of  the  whole  system 
of  politics,  she  turned  her  back  square  toward  it,  and 
laid  violent  hold  of  a  sheet.  There  was  a  smudge  of 
cinders  upon  its  white  surface,  and  it  crushed  crisply 
under  her  thumb  with  the  unmistakable  feel  of  burned 
grass. 

"Now,  what  in  time  —  "  began  Arline  aloud,  after  the 
manner  of  women  whose  tongues  must  keep  pace  with 
their  thoughts.  "That  there  feels  fresh  and"  —  with  a 
sniff  at  the  spot  —  "smells  fresh." 

'    With  the  wisdom  of  much  experience  she  faced  the  hot 
wind  and  sniffed  again,  while  her  eyes  searched  keenly 


106  LONESOME    LAND 

the  sky  line,  which  was  the  ragged  top  of  the  bluff  mark- 
ing the  northern  boundary  of  the  great  prairie  land.  A 
trifle  darker  it  was  there,  and  there  was  a  certain  sullen 
glow  discernible  only  to  eyes  trained  to  read  the  sky  for 
warning  signals  of  snow,  fire,  and  flood. 

"That 's  a  fire,  and  it 's  this  side  of  the  river.  And  if 
it  is,  then  the  railroad  set  it,  and  there  ain't  a  livin'  thing 
to  stop  it.  An'  the  wind  's  jest  right  —  "A  curdled  roll 
of  smoke  showed  plainly  for  a  moment  in  the  haze.  She 
crammed  her  armful  of  sheets  into  the  battered  willow 
basket,  threw  two  clothespins  hastily  toward  the  same 
receptacle,  and  ran. 

The  special  had  just  come  to  a  stop  at  the  depot.  The 
cattlemen,  cowboys,  and  townspeople  were  packed  close 
around  the  rear  of  the  train,  their  backs  to  the  wind  and 
the  disaster  sweeping  down  upon  them,  their  browned 
faces  upturned  to  the  sleek,  carefully  groomed  man  in  the 
light-gray  suit,  with  a  flaunting,  prairie  sunflower  osten- 
tatiously displayed  in  his  buttonhole  and  with  his  cam- 
paign smile  upon  his  lips  and  dull  boredom  looking  out 
of  his  eyes. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  was  saying,  as  he  smiled, 
"you  favoured  ones  whose  happy  lot  it  is  to  live  in  the 
most  glorious  State  of  our  glorious  union,  I  greet  you, 
and  I  envy  you  —  " 

Arline,  with  her  soiled  kitchen  apron,  her  ragged  coil 


THE    PRAIRIE    FIRE  107 

of  dust-brown  hair,  her  work-drawn  face  and  faded  eyes 
which  blazed  with  excitement,  pushed  unceremoniously 
through  the  crowd  and  confronted  him  undazzled. 

"Mister  Candidate,  you  better  move  on  and  give  these 
men  a  chancet  to  save  their  property,"  she  cried  shrilly. 
"They  got  something  to  do  besides  stand  around  here 
and  listen  at  you  throwin'  campaign  loads.  The  hull 
country  's  afire  back  of  us,  and  the  wind  bringin'  it  down 
on  a  long  lope." 

She  turned  from  the  astounded  candidate  and  glared 
at  the  startled  crowd,  every  one  of  whom  she  knew 
personally. 

"I  must  say  I  got  my  opinion  of  a  bunch  that  11  stand 
here  swallowin'  a  lot  of  hot  air,  while  their  coat  tails  is 
most  ready  to  ketch  afire!"  Her  voice  was  rasping,  and 
it  carried  to  the  farthest  of  them.  "You  make  me  tired! 
Political  slush,  all  of  it  —  and  the  hull  darned  country 
a-blazin'  behind  you!" 

The  crowd  moved  uneasily,  then  scattered  away  from 
the  shelter  of  the  depot  to  where  they  could  snuff  inquir- 
ingly the  wind,  like  dogs  in  the  leash. 

"That 's  right,"  yelled  Blumenthall,  of  the  Double  Dia- 
mond. "There's  a  fire,  sure  as  hell!"  He  started  to 
nm. 

The  man  behind  him  hesitated  but  a  second,  then 
gripped  his  hat  against  the  push  of  the  wind,  and  began 


108  LONESOME    LAND 

running.  Presently  men,  women,  and  children  were  run- 
ning, all  in  one  direction. 

The  prospective  President  stood  agape  upon  the  plat- 
form of  his  bunting-draped  car,  his  chosen  allies  grouped 
foolishly  around  him.  It  was  the  first  time  men  had  turned 
from  his  presence  withlhis  gracious,  flatteringly  noncom- 
mittal speech  unuttered,  his  hand  unshaken,  his  smiling, 
bowing  departure  unmarked  by  cheers  growing  fainter 
as  he  receded.  Only  Arline  tarried,  her  thin  fingers  grip- 
ping the  arm  of  her  "breed  girl,"  lest  she  catch  the  panic 
and  run  with  the  others. 

Arline  tilted  back  her  head  upon  her  scrawny  shoulders 
and  eyed  the  prospective  President  with  antagonism 
unconcealed. 

"I  got  something  to  say  to  you  before  you  go,"  she 
announced,  in  her  rasping  voice,  with  its  querulous  note. 
"  I  want  to  tell  you  that  the  chances  are  a  hundred  to  one 
you  set  that  fire  yourself,  with  your  engine  that 's  haulin* 
you  around  over  the  country,  so  you  can  jolly  men  into 
votin'  for  you.  Your  train  's  the  only  one  over  the  road 
since  noon,  and  that  fire  started  from  the  railroad.  The 
hull  town  's  liable  to  burn,  unless  it  can  be  stopped  the 
other  side  the  creek,  to  say  nothing  of  the  range,  that 
feeds  our  stock,  and  the  hay,  and  maybe  houses  —  and 
maybe  people !'' 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  almost  shrieked  the  last 


THE    PRAIRIE    FIRE  109 

three  words,  as  a  dreadful  probability  flashed  into  her 
mind. 

"I  know  a  woman  —  just  a  girl  —  and  she 's  back  there 
twenty  mile  —  alone,  and  her  man  *s  here  to  look  at  you 
go  by!    I  hope  you  git  beat,  just  for  that! 

"If  this  town  ketches  afire  and  burns  up,  I  hope  you 
run  into  the  ditch  before  you  git  ten  mile!  If  you  was  a 
man,  and  them  fellers  with  you  was  men,  you  *d  hold  up 
your  train  and  help  save  the  town.  Every  feller  counts, 
when  it  comes  to  fightin'  fire.'* 

She  stopped  and  eyed  the  group  keenly.  "But  you 
won't.  I  don't  reckon  you  ever  done  anything  with  them 
hands  in  your  life  that  would  grind  a  little  honest  dirt 
into  your  knuckles  and  under  them  shiny  nails!" 

The  prospective  President  turned  red  to  his  ears,  and 
hastily  removed  his  immaculate  hands  from  where  they 
had  been  resting  upon  the  railing.  And  he  did  not  hold 
up  the  train  while  he  and  his  allies  stopped  to  help  save 
the  town.  The  whistle  gave  a  warning  toot,  the  bell 
jangled,  and  the  train  slid  away  toward  the  next  town, 
leaving  Arline  staring,  tight-lipped,  after  it. 

"The  darned  chump  —  he  'd  'a'  made  votes  hand  over 
fist  if  he  'd  called  my  bluff;  but  I  knew  he  would  n't, 
soon  as  I  seen  his  face.    He  ain't  man  enough." 

"He 's  real  good-lookin',"  sighed  Minnie,  feebly  at- 
tempting to  release  her  arm  from  the  grasp  of  her  mis- 


110  LONESOME    LAND 

tress.  "And  did  you  notice  the  fellow  with  the  big 
yellow  mustache?    He  kept  eyin'  me  —  " 

"Well,  I  don't  wonder  —  but  it  ain't  anything  to  your 
credit,"  snapped  Arline,  facing  her  toward  the  hotel. 
"You  do  look  like  sin  a-flyin',  in  that  green  dress,  and  with 
all  that  starch  on  your  face.  You  git  along  to  the  house 
and  mix  that  bread,  first  thing  you  do,  and  start  a  fire. 
And  if  I  ain't  back  by  that  time,  you  go  ahead  with  the 
supper;  you  know  what  to  git.  We  're  liable  to  have  all 
the  tables  full,  so  you  set  all  of  'em." 

She  was  hurrying  away,  when  the  girl  called  to  her. 

"Did  you  mean  Mis'  Fleetwood,  when  you  said  that 
about  the  woman  burning?  And  do  you  s'pose  she 's 
really  in  the  fire?  " 

"You  shut  up  and  go  along!"  cried  Arline  roughly, 
under  the  stress  of  her  own  fears.  "  How  in  time  's  any- 
body going  to  tell,  that 's  twenty  miles  away?  " 

She  left  the  street  and  went  hurrying  through  back 
yards  and  across  vacant  lots,  crawled  through  a  wire 
fence,  and  so  reached,  without  any  roundabout  method, 
the  trail  which  led  to  the  top  of  the  bluff,  where  the  whole 
town  was  breathlessly  assembling.  Her  flat-chested,  un- 
corseted  figure  merged  into  the  haze  as  she  half  trotted 
up  the  steep  road,  swinging  her  arms  like  a  man,  her 
skirts  flapping  in  the  wind.  As  she  went,  she  kept  mut- 
tering to  herself: 


THE    PRAIRIE    FIRE  111 

"If  she  really  is  caught  by  the  fire  —  and  her  alone  — 
and  Man  more  'n  half  drunk  —  "  She  whirled,  and  stood 
waiting  for  the  horseman  who  was  galloping  up  the  trail 
behind  her.  "You  going  home,  Man?  You  don't  think 
it  could  git  to  your  place,  do  you?"  She  shouted  the 
questions  at  him  as  he  pounded  past. 

Manley,  sallow  white  with  terror,  shook  his  head 
vaguely  and  swung  his  heavy  quirt  down  upon  the  flanks 
of  his  horse.  Arline  lowered  her  head  against  the  dust 
kicked  into  her  face  as  he  went  tearing  past  her,  and 
kept  doggedly  on.  Some  one  came  rattling  up  behind 
her  with  empty  barrels  dancing  erratically  in  a  wagon, 
and  she  left  the  trail  to  make  room.  The  hostler  from 
their  own  stable  it  was  who  drove,  and  at  the  creek  ahead 
of  them  he  stopped  to  fill  the  barrels.  Arline  passed  him 
by  and  kept  on. 

At  the  brow  of  the  hill  the  women  and  children  were 
gathered  in  a  whimpering  group.  ArUne  joined  them  and 
gazed  out  over  the  prairie,  where  the  smoke  was  rolling 
toward  them,  and,  lifting  here  and  there,  let  a  flare  of 
yellow  through. 

"It  '11  show  up  fine  at  dark,"  a  fat  woman  in  a  buggy 
remarked.  "There  's  nothing  grander  to  look  at  than  a 
prairie  fire  at  night.  I  do  hope,"  she  added  weakly,  "it 
don't  do  no  great  damage!" 

"Oh,  it  won't,"  Arline  cut  in,  with  savage  sarcasm, 


m  LONESOME    LAND 

panting  from  her  climb.  "  It 's  bound  to  sweep  the  hull 
country  slick  an'  clean,  and  maybe  burn  us  all  out  — 
but  that  won't  matter,  so  long  as  it  looks  purty  after 
dark!" 

"They  say  it 's  a  good  ten  mile  away  yet,"  another 
woman  volunteered  encouragingly.  "They'll  git  it 
stopped,  all  right.  There 's  lots  of  men  here  to  fight  it, 
thank  goodness!" 

Arline  moved  on  to  where  a  plow  was  being  hurriedly 
unloaded  from  a  wagon,  the  horses  hitched  to  it,  and  a 
man  already  grasping  the  handles  in  an  aggressive  manner. 
As  she  came  up  he  went  off,  yelling  his  opinions  and  turn- 
ing a  shallow,  uneven  furrow  for  a  back  fire.  Within  five 
minutes  another  plow  was  tearing  up  the  sod  in  an  oppo- 
site direction. 

"  If  it  jumps  here,  or  they  can't  turn  it,  the  creek  '11 
help  a  lot,"  some  one  was  yelling. 

The  plowed  furrows  lengthened,  the  horses  sweating 
and  throwing  their  heads  up  and  down  with  the  discom- 
fort of  the  pace  they  must  keep.  Whiplashes  whistled 
and  the  drivers  urged  them  on  with  much  shouting. 
Blumenthall,  cut  off,  with  his  men,  from  reaching  his  own 
ranch,  was  directing  a  group  about  to  set  a  back  fire. 
His  voice  boomed  as  if  he  were  shouting  across  a  milling 
herd.  A  roll  of  his  eye  brought  his  attention  momen- 
tarily from  the  work,  and  he  ran  toward  a  horseman  who 


THE    PRAIRIE    FIRE  113 

was  gesticulating  wildly  and  seemed  on  the  point  of 
riding  straight  toward  the  fire. 

"Hi!  Fleetwood,  we  need  you  here!"  he  yelled.  "You 
can't  get  home  now,  and  you  know  it.  The  fire  's  past 
your  place  already;  you  'd  have  to  ride  through  it,  you 
fool !    Hey?    Your  wife  home  alone  —  alonef  " 

He  stood  absolutely  still  and  stared  out  to  the  south- 
west, where  the  smoke  cloud  was  rolling  closer  with  every 
breath.  He  drew  his  fingers  across  his  forehead  and 
glanced  at  the  men  around  him,  also  stunned  into  inac- 
tivity by  the  tragedy  behind  the  words. 

"Well  —  get  to  work,  men.  We  Ve  got  to  save  the 
town.  Fine  time  to  burn  guards  —  when  a  fire  's  loping 
up  on  you !  But  that 's  the  way  it  goes,  generally.  This 
ought  to  Ve  been  done  a  month  ago.  Put  it  off  and  put 
it  off  —  while  they  haggle  over  bids  —  Brinberg,  you 
and  I  '11  string  the  fire.  The  rest  of  you  watch  it  don't 
jump  back.  And,  say!"  he  shouted  to  the  group  around 
Manley.  "Don't  let  that  crazy  fool  start  off  now.  Put 
him  to  work.  Best  thing  for  him.  But  —  my  God,  that 's 
awful!"  He  did  not  shout  the  last  sentence.  He  spoke 
so  that  only  the  nearest  man  heard  him  —  heard,  and 
nodded  dumb  assent. 

Manley  raged,  sitting  helpless  there  upon  his  horse. 
They  would  not  let  him  ride  out  toward  that  sweeping 
wave  of  fire.    He  could  not  have  gone  five  miles  toward 


114  LONESOME    LAND 

home  before  he  met  the  flames.  He  stood  in  the  stirrups 
and  shook  his  fists  impotently.  He  strained  his  eyes  to 
see  what  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  see  —  his  ranch  and 
Val,  and  how  they  had  fared.  He  pictured  mentally  the 
guard  he  had  burned  beyond  the  coulee  to  protect  them 
from  just  this  danger,  and  his  heart  squeezed  tight  at  the 
realization  of  his  own  shiftlessness.  That  guard!  A 
twelve-foot  strip  of  half-burned  sod,  with  tufts  of  grass 
left  standing  here  and  there  —  and  he  had  meant  to  burn 
it  wider,  and  had  put  it  off  from  day  to  day,  until  now. 
N(ml 

His  clenched  fist  dropped  upon  the  saddle  horn,  and  he 
stared  dully  at  the  rushing,  rolling  smoke  and  fire.  It 
was  not  that  he  saw  —  it  was  Val,  with  cinder-blackened 
ruffles,  grimy  face,  and  yellow  hair  falling  in  loose  locks 
upon  her  cheeks  —  locks  which  she  must  stop  to  push 
out  of  her  eyes,  so  that  she  could  see  where  to  swing  the 
sodden  sack  while  she  helped  him  —  him,  Manley,  who 
had  permitted  her  to  do  work  fit  for  none  but  a  man's 
hard  muscles,  so  that  he  might  finish  the  sooner  and  ride 
to  town  upon  some  flimsy  pretext.  And  he  could  not  even 
reach  her  now  —  or  the  place  where  she  had  been! 

The  group  had  thinned  around  him,  for  there  was  some- 
thing to  do  besides  give  sympathy  to  a  man  bereaved. 
Unless  they  bestirred  themselves,  they  might  all  be  in 
need  of  sympathy  before  the  day  was  done.    Manley  took 


THE    PRAIRIE    FIRE  115 

his  eyes  from  the  coming  fire  and  glanced  around  him, 
saw  that  he  was  alone,  and,  with  a  despairing  oath, 
wheeled  his  horse  and  raced  back  down  the  hill  to  town, 
as  if  fiends  rode  behind  the  saddle. 

At  the  saloon  opposite  the  Hawley  Hotel  he  drew  up; 
rather,  his  horse  stopped  there  of  his  own  accord,  as  if  he 
were  quite  at  home  at  that  particular  hitching  pole. 
Manley  dismounted  heavily  and  lurched  inside.  The 
place  was  deserted  save  for  Jim,  who  was  paid  to  watch 
the  wares  of  his  employer,  and  was  now  standing  upon 
a  chair  at  the  window,  that  he  might  see  over  the  top  of 
Hawley's  coal  shed  and  glimpse  the  hilltop  beyond.  Jim 
stepped  down  and  came  toward  him. 

"How's  the  fire?"  he  demanded  anxiously.  "Think 
she  '11  swing  over  this  way? " 

But  Manley  had  sunk  into  a  chair  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  arms,  folded  upon  a  whisky-spotted  card  table. 

"Val  —  my  Val!"  he  wailed.  "Back  there  alone  — 
get  me  a  drink,"  he  added  thickly,  "or  I  '11  go  crazy!" 

Jim  hastily  poured  a  full  glass,  and  stood  over  him 
anxiously. 

"Here  it  is.  Drink  'er  down,  and  brace  up.  What  you 
mean?     Is  your  wife  —  " 

Manley  lifted  his  head  long  enough  to  gulp  the  whisky, 
then  dropped  it  again  upon  his  arms  and  groaned. 


CHAPTER  IX 

KENT  TO  THE  RESCUE 

THE  fire  had  been  burning  a  possible  half-hour  when 
Kent,  jogging  aimlessly  toward  a  long  ridge  with 
the  lazy  notion  of  riding  to  the  top  and  taking  a  look  at 
the  country  to  the  west  before  returning  to  the  ranch, 
first  smelled  the  stronger  tang  of  burned  grass  and  swung 
instinctively  into  the  wind.  He  galloped  to  higher  ground, 
and,  trained  by  long  watching  of  the  prairie  to  detect  the 
smoke  of  a  nearer  fire  in  the  haze  of  those  long  distant, 
saw  at  once  what  must  have  happened,  and  knew  also 
the  danger.  His  horse  was  fresh,  and  he  raced  him  over 
the  uneven  prairie  toward  the  blaze. 

It  was  tearing  straight  across  the  high  ground  between 
Dry  Creek  and  Cold  Spring  Coulee  when  he  first  saw  it 
plainly,  and  he  altered  his  course  a  trifle.  The  roar  of  it 
came  faintly  on  the  wind,  like  the  sound  of  storm-beaten 
surf  pounding  heavily  upon  a  sand  bar  when  the  tide  is 
out,  except  that  this  roar  was  continuous,  and  was  full 
of  sharp  cracklings  and  sputterings;  and  there  was  also 
the  red  line  of  flame  to  visualize  the  sound. 


KENT    TO    THE    RESCUE       117 

When  his  eyes  first  swept  the  mile-long  blaze,  he  felt 
his  helplessness,  and  cursed  aloud  the  man  who  had  drawn 
all  the  fighting  force  from  the  prairie  that  day.  They 
might  at  least  have  been  able  to  harry  it  and  hamper  it 
and  turn  the  savage  sweep  of  it  into  barren  ground  upon 
some  rock-bound  coulee's  rim.  If  they  could  have  caught 
it  at  the  start,  or  even  in  the  first  mile  of  its  burning  — 
or,  even  now,  if  Blumenthall's  outfit  were  on  the  spot  — 
or  if  Manley  Fleetwood's  fire  guards  held  it  back  —  He 
hoped  some  of  them  had  stayed  at  home,  so  that  they 
could  help  fight  it. 

In  that  brief  glimpse  before  he  rode  down  into  a  hollow 
and  so  lost  sight  of  it,  he  knew  that  the  fire  they  had 
fought  and  vanquished  before  had  been  a  puny  blaze 
compared  with  this  one.  The  ground  it  had  burned  was 
not  broad  enough  to  do  more  than  check  this  fire  tem- 
porarily. It  would  simply  burn  around  the  blackened 
area  and  rush  on  and  on,  until  the  bend  of  the  river 
turned  it  back  to  the  north,  where  the  river's  first  tribu- 
tary stream  would  stop  it  for  good  and  all.  But  before 
that  happened  it  would  have  done  its  worst  —  and  its 
worst  was  enough  to  pale  the  face  of  every  prairie  dweller. 

Once  more  he  caught  sight  of  the  fire  as  he  was  riding 
swiftly  across  the  level  land  to  the  east  of  Cold  Spring 
Coulee.  He  was  going  to  see  if  Manley's  fire  guards  were 
any  good,  and  if  anyone  was  there  ready  to  fight  it  when 


118  LONESOME    LAND 

it  came  up;  they  could  set  a  back  fire  from  the  guards, 
he  thought,  even  if  the  guards  themselves  were  not  wide 
enough  to  hold  the  main  fire. 

He  pounded  heavily  down  the  long  trail  into  the  coulee, 
passed  close  by  the  house  with  a  glance  sidelong  to  see  if 
anybody  was  in  sight  there,  rounded  the  corral  to  follow 
the  trail  which  wound  zigzag  up  the  farther  coulee  wall, 
and  overtook  Val,  running  bareheaded  up  the  hill,  drag- 
ging a  wet  sack  after  her.  She  was  panting  already  from 
the  climb,  and  she  had  on  thin  slippers  with  high  heels, 
he  noticed,  that  impeded  her  progress  and  promised  a 
sprained  ankle  before  she  reached  the  top.  Kent  laughed 
grimly  when  he  overtook  her;  he  thought  it  was  like  a  five- 
year-old  child  running  with  a  cup  of  water  to  put  out  a 
burning  house. 

"Where  do  you  think  you  're  going  with  that  sack?" 
he  called  out,  by  way  of  greeting. 

She  turned  a  pale,  terrified  face  toward  him,  and 
reached  up  a  hand  mechanically  to  push  her  fair  hair  out 
of  her  eyes.  "  So  much  smoke  was  rolling  into  the  coulee," 
she  panted,  "  and  I  knew  there  must  be  a  fire.  And  I  Ve 
never  felt  quite  easy  about  our  guards  since  Polycarp 
Jenks  said  —    Do  you  know  where  it  is  —  the  fire?" 

"  It 's  between  here  and  the  railroad.  Give  me  that 
sack,  and  you  go  on  back  to  the  house.  You  can't  do  any 
good."    And  when  she  handed  the  sack  up  to  him  and 


KENT    TO    THE    RESCUE       119 

then  kept  on  up  the  hill,  he  became  autocratic  in  his  tone. 
''Go  on  back  to  the  house,  I  tell  you!" 

"I  shall  not  do  anything  of  the  kind,"  she  retorted  in- 
dignantly, and  Kent  gave  a  snort  of  disapproval,  kicked 
his  horse  into  a  lunging  gallop,  and  left  her. 

"You  '11  spoil  your  complexion,"  he  cried  over  his 
shoulder,  "and  that 's  about  all  you  will  do.  You  better 
go  back  and  get  a  parasol." 

Val  did  not  attempt  to  reply,  but  she  refused  to  let  his 
taunts  turn  her  back,  and  kept  stubbornly  climbing, 
though  tears  of  pure  rage  filled  her  eyes  and  even  slipped 
over  the  lids  to  her  cheeks.  Before  she  had  reached  the 
top,  he  was  charging  down  upon  her  again,  and  the  pallor 
of  his  face  told  her  much. 

"All  hell  could  n't  stop  that  fire!"  he  cried,  before  he 
was  near  her,  and  the  words  were  barely  distinguishable 
in  the  roar  which  was  growing  louder  and  more  terrifying. 
'^Get  hack!  You  want  to  stand  there  till  it  comes  down 
on  you? "  Then,  just  as  he  was  passing,  he  saw  how  white 
and  trembling  she  was,  and  he  pulled  up,  with  Michael 
sliding  his  front  feet  in  the  loose  soil  that  he  might  stop 
on  that  steep  slope. 

"You  don't  want  to  go  and  faint,"  he  remonstrated  in 
a  more  kindly  tone,  vaguely  conscious  that  he  had  per- 
haps seemed  brutal.  "Here,  give  me  your  hand,  and  stick 
your  toe  in  the  stirrup.    Ah,  don't  waste  time  trying  to 


120  LONESOME    LAND 

make  up  your  mind  —  up  you  come!  Don't  you  want  to 
save  the  house  and  corrals  —  and  the  haystacks?  We  Ve 
got  our  work  cut  out,  let  me  tell  you,  if  we  do  it." 

He  had  leaned  and  lifted  her  up  bodily,  helped  her  to 
put  her  foot  in  the  stirrup  from  which  he  had  drawn  his 
own,  and  held  her  beside  him  while  he  sent  Michael  down 
the  trail  as  fast  as  he  dared.  It  was  a  good  deal  of  a  nui- 
sance, having  to  look  after  her  when  seconds  were  so  pre- 
cious, but  he  could  n't  go  on  and  leave  her,  though  she 
might  easily  have  reached  the  bottom  as  soon  as  he  if 
she  had  not  been  so  frightened.  He  was  afraid  to  trust 
her;  she  looked,  to  him,  as  if  she  were  going  to  faint  in 
his  arms. 

"You  don't  want  to  get  scared,"  he  said,  as  calmly  as 
he  could.  "  It 's  back  two  or  three  miles  on  the  bench  yet, 
and  I  guess  we  can  easy  stop  it  from  burning  anything 
but  the  grass.  It 's  this  wind,  you  see.  Manley  went  to 
town,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  weakly.  "He  went  yesterday, 
and  stayed  over.  I  'm  all  alone,  and  I  did  n't  know  what 
to  do,  only  to  go  up  and  try  —  " 

"No  use,  up  there." 

They  were  at  the  corral  gate  then,  and  he  set  her  down 
carefully,  then  dismounted  and  turned  Michael  into  the 
corral  and  shut  the  gate. 

"If  we  can't  stop  it,  and  I  ain't  close  by,  I  wish  you  'd 


KENT    TO    THE    RESCUE       121 

let  Michael  out/'  he  said  hurriedly,  his  eyes  taking  in 
the  immediate  surroundings  and  measuring  the  danger 
which  lurked  in  weeds,  grass,  and  scattered  hay.  "A 
horse  don't  have  much  show  when  he  's  shut  up,  and  — 
Out  there  where  that  dry  ditch  runs,  we  '11  back-fire. 
You  take  this  sack  and  come  and  watch  out  my  fire  don't 
jump  the  ditch.  We  '11  carry  it  around  the  house,  just 
the  other  side  the  trail."  He  was  pulling  a  handful  of 
grass  for  a  torch,  and  while  he  was  twisting  it  and  feeling 
in  his  pocket  for  a  match,  he  looked  at  her  keenly.  "You 
aren't  going  to  get  hysterics  and  leave  me  to  fight  it 
alone,  are  you?"  he  challenged. 

"I  hope  I'm  not  quite  such  a  silly,"  she  answered 
stiffly,  and  he  smiled  to  himself  as  he  ran  along  the  far 
side  of  the  ditch  with  his  blazing  tuft  of  grass,  setting  fire 
to  the  tangled,  brown  mat  which  covered  the  coulee 
bottom. 

Val  followed  slowly  behind  him,  watching  that  the 
blaze  did  not  blow  back  across  the  ditch,  and  beating  it 
out  when  it  seemed  likely  to  do  so.  Now  that  she  could 
actually  do  something,  she  was  no  more  excited  than  he, 
if  one  could  judge  by  her  manner.  She  did  look  sulky, 
however,  at  his  way  of  treating  her. 

To  back-fire  on  short  notice,  with  no  fresh-turned 
furrow  of  moist  earth,  but  only  a  shallow  little  dry  ditch 
with  the  grass  almost  meeting  over  its  top  in  places,  is 


122  LONESOME    LAND 

ticklish  business  at  best.  Kent  went  slowly,  stamping 
out  incipient  blazes  that  seemed  likely  to  turn  unruly, 
and  not  trusting  to  Val  any  more  than  he  was  compelled 
to  do.  She  was  a  woman,  and  Kent's  experience  with 
women  of  her  particular  type  had  not  been  extensive 
enough  to  breed  confidence  in  an  emergency  like  this. 

He  had  no  more  than  finished  stringing  his  line  of  fire 
in  the  irregular  half  circle  which  enclosed  house,  corral, 
stables,  and  haystacks,  and  had  for  its  eastern  half  the 
muddy  depression  which,  in  seasons  less  dry,  was  a  fair- 
sized  creek  fed  by  the  spring,  when  a  jagged  line  of  fire 
with  an  upper  wall  of  tumbling,  brown  smoke,  leaped  into 
view  at  the  top  of  the  bluff. 

One  thing  was  in  his  favor:  The  grass  upon  the  hillside 
was  scantier  than  on  the  level  upland,  and  here  and  there 
were  patches  of  yellow  soil  absolutely  bare  of  vegetation, 
where  a  fire  would  be  compelled  to  halt  and  creep  slowly 
around.  Also,  fire  usually  burns  slower  down  a  hill  than 
over  a  level.  On  the  other  hand,  the  long,  seamlike  depres- 
sions which  ran  to  the  top  were  filled  with  dry  brush,  and 
even  the  coulee  bottom  had  clumps  of  rosebushes  and 
wild  currant,  where  the  flames  would  revel  briefly. 

But  already  the  black,  smoking  line  which  curved  around 
the  haystacks  to  the  north,  and  around  the  house  toward 
the  south,  was  widening  with  every  passing  second. 

Val  had  a  tub  half  filled  with  water  at  the  house,  and  that 


KENT    TO    THE    RESCUE       123 

helped  amazingly  by  making  it  possible  to  keep  the  sacks 
wet,  so  that  every  blow  counted  as  they  beat  out  the  ragged 
tongues  of  flame  which,  in  that  wind,  would  jump  here 
and  there  the  ditch  and  the  road,  and  go  creeping  back 
toward  the  stacks  and  the  buildings.  For  it  was  a  long 
line  they  were  guarding,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
running  up  and  down  in  their  endeavor  to  be  in  two  places 
at  once. 

Then  Val,  in  turning  to  strike  a  new-born  flame  behind 
her,  swept  her  skirt  across  a  tuft  of  smoldering  grass 
and  set  herself  afire.  With  the  excitement  of  watching 
all  points  at  once,  and  with  the  smoke  and  smell  of  fire 
all  about  her,  she  did  not  see  what  had  happened,  and 
must  have  paid  a  frightful  penalty  if  Kent  had  not,  at 
that  moment,  been  running  past  her  to  reach  a  point 
where  a  blaze  had  jumped  the  ditch. 

He  swerved,  and  swung  a  newly  wet  sack  around  her 
with  a  force  which  would  have  knocked  her  down  if  he 
had  not  at  the  same  time  caught  and  held  her.  Val 
screamed,  and  struggled  in  his  arms,  and  Kent  knew 
that  it  was  of  him  she  was  afraid.  As  soon  as  he  dared,  he 
released  her  and  backed  away  sullenly. 

"  Sorry  I  did  n't  have  time  to  say  please  —  you  were 
just  ready  to  go  up  in  smoke,"  he  flung  savagely  over  his 
shoulder.  But  he  found  himself  shaking  and  weak,  so 
that  when  he  reached  the  blaze  he  must  beat  out,  the 


124  LONESOME    LAND 

sack  was  heavy  as  lead.  "Afraid  of  me  —  women  sure 
do  beat  hell!"  he  told  himself,  when  he  was  a  bit  steadier. 
He  glanced  back  at  her  resentfully.  Val  was  stooping, 
inspecting  the  damage  done  to  her  dress.  She  stood  up, 
looked  at  him,  and  he  saw  that  her  face  was  white  again, 
as  it  had  been  upon  the  hillside. 

A  moment  later  he  was  near  her  again. 

"Mr.  Burnett,  I  'm  —  ashamed  —  but  I  did  n^t  know, 
and  you  —  you  startled  me,"  she  stopped  him  long  enough 
to  confess,  though  she  did  not  meet  his  eyes.  "You 
saved — " 

"You  '11  be  startled  worse,  if  you  let  the  fire  hang  there 
in  that  bunch  of  grass,"  he  interrupted  coolly.  "Behind 
you,  there." 

She  turned  obediently,  and  swung  her  sack  down 
several  times  upon  a  smoldering  spot,  and  the  incident 
was  closed. 

Speedily  it  was  forgotten,  also.  For  with  the  meeting 
of  the  fires,  which  they  stood  still  to  watch,  a  patch  of 
wild  rosebushes  was  caught  fairly  upon  both  sides,  and 
flared  high,  with  a  great  snapping  and  crackling.  The 
wind  seized  upon  the  blaze,  flung  it  toward  them  like  a 
great,  yellow  banner,  and  swept  cinders  and  burning 
twigs  far  out  over  the  blackened  path  of  the  back  fire. 
Kent  watched  it  and  hardly  breathed,  but  Val  was 
shielding  her  face  from  the  searing  heat  with  her  arms. 


KENT    TO    THE    RESCUE       125 

and  so  did  not  see  what  happened  then.  A  burning 
branch  like  a  long,  flaming  dagger  flew  straight  with  the 
wind  and  lighted  true  as  if  flung  by  the  hand  of  an  enemy. 
A  long,  neatly  tapered  stack  received  it  fairly,  and  Kent's 
cry  brought  Val's  arms  down,  and  her  scared  eyes  staring 
at  him. 

"That  settles  the  hay,"  he  exclaimed,  and  raced  for 
the  stacks  knowing  all  the  while  that  he  could  do  nothing, 
and  yet  panting  in  his  hurry  to  reach  the  spot. 

Michael,  trampling  uneasily  in  the  corral,  lifted  his 
head  and  neighed  shrilly  as  Kent  passed  him  on  the  run. 
Michael  had  watched  fearfully  the  fire  sweeping  down 
upon  him,  and  his  fear  had  troubled  Val  not  a  little.  When 
she  saw  Kent  pass  the  gate,  she  hurried  up  and  threw  it 
open,  wondering  a  little  that  Kent  should  forget  his  horse. 
He  had  told  her  to  see  that  he  was  turned  loose  if  the  fire 
could  not  be  stopped  —  and  now  he  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  it. 

Michael,  with  a  snort  and  an  upward  toss  of  his  head 
to  throw  the  dragging  reins  away  from  his  feet,  left  the 
corral  with  one  jump,  and  clattered  away,  past  the  house 
and  up  the  hill,  on  the  trail  which  led  toward  home. 
Val  stood  for  a  moment  watching  him.  Could  he  out-run 
the  fire?  He  was  holding  his  head  turned  to  one  side  now, 
so  that  the  reins  dangled  away  from  his  pounding  feet; 
once  he  stumbled  to  his  knees,  but  he  was  up  in  a  flash, 


126  LONESOME    LAND 

and  running  faster  than  ever.  He  passed  out  of  sight 
over  the  hill,  and  Val,  with  eyes  smarting  and  cheeks 
burning  from  the  heat,  drew  a  long  breath  and  started 
after  Kent. 

Kent  was  backing,  step  by  step,  away  from  the 
heat  of  the  burning  stacks.  The  roar,  and  the  crackle, 
and  the  heat  were  terrific;  it  was  as  if  the  whole  world 
was  burning  around  them,  and  they  only  were  left.  A 
brand  flew  low  over  Val's  head  as  she  ran  staggeringly, 
with  a  bewildered  sense  that  she  must  hurry  somewhere 
and  do  something  immediately,  to  save  something  which 
positively  must  be  saved.  A  spark  from  the  brand  fell 
upon  her  hand,  and  she  looked  up  stupidly.  The  heat 
and  the  smoke  were  choking  her  so  that  she  could  scarcely 
breathe. 

A  new  crackle  was  added  to  the  uproar  of  flames.  Kent, 
still  backing  from  the  furnace  of  blazing  hay,  turned, 
and  saw  that  the  stable,  with  its  roof  of  musty  hay,  was 
afire.  And,  just  beyond,  Val,  her  face  covered  with  her 
sooty  hands,  was  staggering  drunkenly.  He  reached 
her  as  she  fell  to  her  knees. 

"I  —  can't  —  fight  —  any  more,"  she  whispered  faintly. 

He  picked  her  up  in  his  arms  and  hesitated,  his  face 
toward  the  house;  then  ran  straight  away  from  it,  stumbled 
across  the  dry  ditch  and  out  across  the  blackened  strip 
which  their  own  back  fire  had  swept  clean  of  grass.    The 


KENT    TO    THE    RESCUE       127 

hot  earth  burned  his  feet  through  the  soles  of  his  riding 
boots,  but  the  wind  carried  the  heat  and  the  smoke  away, 
behind  them.  Clumps  of  bushes  were  still  burning  at 
the  roots,  but  he  avoided  them  and  kept  on  to  the  far 
side  hill,  where  a  barren,  yellow  patch,  with  jutting  sand- 
stone rocks,  offered  a  resting  place.  He  set  Val  down 
upon  a  rock,  placed  himself  beside  her  so  that  she  was 
leaning  against  him,  and  began  fanning  her  vigorously 
with  his  hat. 

"Thank  the  Lord,  we  're  behind  that  smoke,  anyhow," 
he  observed,  when  he  could  get  his  breath.  He  felt  that 
silence  was  not  good  for  the  woman  beside  him,  though 
he  doubted  much  whether  she  was  in  a  condition  to 
understand  him.  She  was  gasping  irregularly,  and  her 
body  was  a  dead  weight  against  him.  "  It  was  sure  fierce, 
there,  for  a  few  minutes." 

He  looked  out  across  the  coulee  at  the  burning  stables, 
and  waited  for  the  house  to  catch.  He  could  not  hope 
that  it  would  escape,  but  he  did  not  mention  the  proba- 
bility of  its  burning. 

"Keep  your  eyes  shut,"  he  said.  "That  '11  help  some, 
and  soon  as  we  can  we  '11  go  to  the  spring  and  give  our 
faces  and  hands  a  good  bath."  He  untied  his  silk  neck- 
erchief, shook  out  the  cinders,  and  pressed  it  against  her 
closed  eyes.  "Keep  that  over  'em,"  he  commanded, 
''  till  we  can  do  better.    My  eyes  are  more  used  to  smoke 


128  LONESOME    LAND 

than  yours,  I  guess.  Working  around  branding  fires 
toughens  'em  some." 

Still  she  did  not  attempt  to  speak,  and  she  did  not 
seem  to  have  energy  enough  left  to  keep  the  silk  over 
her  eyes.  The  wind  blew  it  off  without  her  stirring  a 
finger  to  prevent,  and  Kent  caught  it  just  in  time  to 
save  it  from  sailing  away  toward  the  fire.  After  that 
he  held  it  in  place  himself,  and  he  did  not  try  to  keep 
talking.  He  sat  quietly,  with  his  arm  around  her,  as 
impersonal  in  the  embrace  as  if  he  were  holding  a  strange 
partner  in  a  dance,  and  watched  the  stacks  burn,  and 
the  stables.  He  saw  the  corral  take  fire,  rail  by  rail,  until 
it  was  all  ablaze.  He  saw  hens  and  roosters  running  heav- 
ily, with  wings  dragging,  until  the  heat  toppled  them 
over.  He  saw  a  cat,  with  white  spots  upon  its  sides,  leave 
the  bushes  down  by  the  creek  and  go  bounding  in  terror 
to  the  house. 

And  still  the  house  stood  there,  the  curtains  flapping 
in  and  out  through  the  open  windows,  the  kitchen  door 
banging  open  and  shut  as  the  gusts  of  wind  caught  it. 
The  fire  licked  as  close  as  burned  ground  and  rocky  creek 
bed  would  let  it,  and  the  flames  which  had  stayed  behind 
to  eat  the  spare  gleanings  died,  while  the  main  line  raged 
on  up  the  hillside  and  disappeared  in  a  huge,  curling 
wave  of  smoke.  The  stacks  burned  down  to  blackened, 
smoldering  butts.    The  willows  next  the  spring,  and  the 


KENT    TO    THE    RESCUE       129 

choke-cherries  and  wild  currants  withered  in  the  heat  and 
waved  charred,  naked  arms  impotently  in  the  wind.  The 
stable  crumpled  up,  flared,  and  became  a  heap  of  embers. 
The  corral  was  but  a  ragged  line  of  smoking,  half-burned 
sticks  and  ashes.  Spirals  of  smoke,  like  dying  camp  fires, 
blew  thin  ribbons  out  over  the  desolation. 

Kent  drew  a  long  breath  and  glanced  down  at  the  limp 
figure  in  his  arms.  She  lay  so  very  still  that  in  spite  of  a 
quivering  breath  now  and  then  he  had  a  swift,  unreasoning 
fear  she  might  be  dead.  Her  hair  was  a  tangled  mass  of 
gold  upon  her  head,  and  spilled  over  his  arm.  He  care- 
fully picked  a  flake  or  two  of  charred  grass  from  the  locks 
on  her  temples,  and  discovered  how  fine  and  soft  was 
the  hair.  He  lifted  the  grimy  neckerchief  from  her  eyes 
and  looked  down  at  her  face,  smoke-soiled  and  reddened 
from  the  heat.  Her  lips  were  drooped  pitifully,  like  a 
hurt  child.  Her  lashes,  he  noticed  for  the  first  time,  were 
at  least  four  shades  darker  than  her  hair.  His  gaze  traveled 
on  down  her  slim  figure  to  her  ringed  fingers  lying  loosely 
in  her  lap,  a  long,  dry-looking  blister  upon  one  hand  near 
the  thumb;  down  to  her  slippers,  showing  beneath  her 
scorched  skirt.  And  he  drew  another  long  breath.  He 
did  not  know  why,  but  he  had  a  strange,  fleeting  sense  of 
possession,  and  it  startled  him  into  action. 

"You  gone  to  sleep?"  he  called  gently,  and  gave  her 
a  little  shake.    "  We  can  get  to  the  spring  now,  if  you  feel 


130  LONESOME    LAND 

like  walking  that  far;  if  you  don't,  I  reckon  I  '11  have 
to  carry  you  —  for  I  sure  do  want  a  drink!" 

She  half  lifted  her  lashes  and  let  them  drop  again,  as 
if  life  were  not  worth  the  effort  of  living.  Kent  hesitated, 
set  his  lips  tightly  together,  and  lifted  her  up  straighter. 
His  eyes  were  intent  and  stern,  as  though  some  great 
issue  was  at  stake,  and  he  must  rouse  her  at  once,  in 
spite  of  everything. 

"Here,  this  won't  do  at  all,"  he  said  —  but  he  was 
speaking  to  himself  and  his  quivering  nerves,  more  than 
to  her. 

She  sighed,  made  a  conscious  effort,  and  half  opened 
her  eyes  again.  But  she  seemed  not  to  share  his  anxiety 
for  action,  and  her  mental  and  physical  apathy  were  not 
to  be  mistaken.  The  girl  was  utterly  exhausted  with 
fire-fighting  and  nervous  strain. 

"You  seem  to  be  all  in,"  he  observed,  his  voice  softly 
complaining.  "  Well,  I  packed  you  over  here,  and  I  reckon 
I  better  pack  you  back  again  —  if  you  won't  try  to  walk." 

She  muttered  something,  of  which  Kent  only  distin- 
guished "  a  minute."  But  she  was  still  limp,  and  absolutely 
without  interest  in  anything,  and  so,  after  a  moment  of 
hesitation,  he  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carried 
her  back  to  the  house,  kicked  the  door  savagely  open, 
took  her  in  through  the  kitchen,  and  laid  her  down  upon 
the  couch,  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  he  was  rid  of  her. 


KENT    TO    THE    RESCUE       131 

The  couch  was  gay  with  a  bright,  silk  spread  of  "crazy" 
patchwork,  and  piled  generously  with  dainty  cushions, 
too  evidently  made  for  ornamental  purposes  than  for  use. 
But  Kent  piled  the  cushions  recklessly  around  her,  tucked 
her  smudgy  skirts  close,  went  and  got  a  towel,  which  he 
immersed  recklessly  in  the  water  pail,  and  bathed  her 
face  and  hands  with  clumsy  gentleness,  and  pushed  back 
her  tangled  hair.  The  burn  upon  her  hand  showed  an 
angry  red  around  the  white  of  the  blister,  and  he  laid  the 
wet  towel  carefully  upon  it.    She  did  not  move. 

He  was  a  man,  and  he  had  lived  all  his  life  among  men. 
He  could  fight  anything  that  was  fightable.  He  could 
save  her  life,  but  after  this  slight  attention  to  her  com- 
fort he  had  reached  the  limitations  set  by  his  purely 
masculine  training.  He  lowered  the  shades  so  that  the 
room  was  dusky  and  as  cool  as  any  other  place  in  that 
fire-tortured  land,  and  felt  that  he  could  no  do  more 
for  her. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  looking  down  at  the  inert, 
grimy  little  figure  stretched  out  straight,  like  a  corpse, 
upon  the  bright-hued  couch,  her  eyes  closed  and  sunken, 
with  blue  shadows  beneath,  her  lips  pale  and  still  with 
that  tired,  pitiful  droop.  He  stooped  and  rearranged 
the  wet  towel  on  her  burned  hand,  held  his  face  close 
above  hers  for  a  second,  sighed,  frowned,  and  tiptoed  out 
into  the  kitchen,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  X 

DESOLATION 

FOR  more  than  two  hours  Kent  sat  outside  in  the 
shade  of  the  house,  and  stared  out  over  the  black 
desolation  of  the  coulee.  His  horse  was  gone,  so  that  he 
could  not  ride  anywhere  —  and  there  was  nowhere  in 
particular  to  ride.  For  twenty  miles  around  there  was 
no  woman  whom  he  could  bring  to  Val's  assistance,  even 
if  he  had  been  sure  that  she  needed  assistance.  Several 
times  he  tiptoed  into  the  kitchen,  opened  the  door  into 
the  front  room  an  inch  or  so,  and  peered  in  at  her.  The 
third  time,  she  had  relaxed  from  the  corpselike  position, 
and  had  thrown  an  arm  up  over  her  face,  as  if  she  were 
shielding  her  eyes  from  something.  He  took  heart  at 
that,  and  went  out  and  foraged  for  firewood. 

There  was  a  hard-beaten  zone  around  the  corral  and 
stables,  which  had  kept  the  fire  from  spreading  toward 
the  house,  and  the  wind  had  borne  the  sparks  and  embers 
back  toward  the  spring,  so  that  the  house  stood  in  a  brown 
oasis  of  unburned  grass  and  weeds,  scanty  enough,  it  is 
true,  but  yet  a  relief  from  the  dead  black  surroundings. 


DESOLATION  133 

The  woodpile  had  not  suffered.  A  chopping  block,  a 
decrepit  sawhorse,  an  axe,  and  a  rusty  bucksaw  marked 
the  spot;  also  three  ties,  hacked  eloquently  in  places, 
and  just  five  sticks  of  wood,  evidently  chopped  from  a 
tie  by  a  man  in  haste.  Kent  looked  at  that  woodpile, 
and  swore.  He  had  always  known  that  Manley  had  an 
aversion  to  laboring  with  his  hands,  but  he  was  unpre- 
pared for  such  an  exhibition  of  shiftlessness. 

He  savagely  attacked  the  three  ties,  chopped  them 
into  firewood,  and  piled  them  neatly,  and  then,  walking 
upon  his  toes,  he  made  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove,  filled 
the  woodbox,  the  teakettle,  and  the  water  pail,  sat  out 
in  the  shade  until  he  heard  the  kettle  boiling  over  on 
the  stove,  took  another  peep  in  at  Val,  and  then,  moving 
as  quietly  as  he  could,  proceeded  to  cook  supper  for  them 
both. 

He  had  been  perfectly  familiar  with  the  kitchen  arrange- 
ments in  the  days  when  Manley  was  a  bachelor,  and  it 
interested  him  and  filled  him  with  a  respectful  admiration 
for  woman  in  the  abstract  and  for  Val  in  particular,  to 
see  how  changed  everything  was,  and  how  daintily  clean 
and  orderly.  Val's  smooth,  white  hands,  with  their  two 
sparkly  rings  and  the  broad  wedding  band,  did  not 
suggest  a  familiarity  with  actual  work  about  a  house, 
but  the  effect  of  her  labor  and  thought  confronted  him 
at  every  turn. 


134  LONESOME    LAND 

"You  can  see  your  face  in  everything  you  pick  up  that 
was  made  to  shine,"  he  commented,  standing  for  a  moment 
while  he  surveyed  the  bottom  of  a  stewpan.  "  She  don't 
look  it,  but  that  yellow-eyed  little  dame  sure  knows  how 
to  keep  house."  Then  he  heard  her  cough,  and  set  down 
the  stewpan  hurriedly  and  went  to  see  if  she  wanted 
anything. 

Val  was  sitting  upon  the  couch,  her  two  hands  pushing 
back  her  hair,  gazing  stupidly  around  her. 

"Everything  's  all  ready  but  the  tea,"  Kent  announced, 
in  a  perfectly  matter-of-fact  tone.  "I  was  just  waiting 
to  see  how  strong  you  want  it." 

Val  turned  her  yellow-brown  eyes  upon  him  in  be- 
wilderment. "Why,  Mr.  Burnett  —  maybe  I  wasn't 
dreaming,  then.    I  thought  there  was  a  fire.    Was  there?  " 

Kent  grinned.  "Kinda.  You  worked  like  a  son  of  a 
gun,  too  —  till  there  was  n't  any  more  to  do,  and  then 
you  laid  'em  down  for  fair.  You  were  all  in,  so  I  packed 
you  in  and  put  you  there  where  you  could  be  comfortable. 
And  supper 's  ready  —  but  how  strong  do  you  want 
your  tea?  I  kinda  had  an  idea,"  he  added  lamely,  "that 
women  drink  tea,  mostly.    I  made  coffee  for  myself." 

Val  let  herself  drop  back  among  the  pretty  pillows.  "I 
don't  want  any.  If  there  was  a  fire,"  she  said  dully, 
"  then  it 's  true.  Everything  's  all  burned  up.  I  don't 
want  any  tea.    I  want  to  die!" 


DESOLATION  135 

Kent  studied  her  for  a  moment.  "Well,  in  that  case 
—  shall  I  get  the  axe?  " 

Val  had  closed  her  eyes,  but  she  opened  them  again. 
"I  don't  care  what  you  do,"  she  said. 

"Well,  I  aim  to  please,"  he  told  her  calmly.  "What 
/  'd  do,  in  your  place,  would  be  to  go  and  put  on  something 
that  ain't  all  smoked  and  scorched  like  a  —  a  ham,  and 
then  I  'd  sit  up  and  drink  some  tea,  and  be  nice  about 
it.    But,  of  course,  if  you  want  to  cash  in  — " 

Val  gave  a  sob.  "  I  can't  help  it  —  I  'd  just  as  soon 
be  dead  as  alive.  It  was  bad  enough  before  —  and  now 
everything 's  burned  up  —  and  all  Manley's  nice  — 
ha-ay — " 

"Well,"  Kent  interrupted  mercilessly,  "I  've  heard 
of  women  doing  all  kinds  of  fool  things  —  but  this  is  the 
first  time  I  ever  knew  one  to  commit  suicide  over  a  couple 
of  measly  haystacks!"  He  went  out  and  slammed  the 
door  so  that  the  house  shook,  and  tramped  three  times 
across  the  kitchen  floor.  "That  '11  make  her  so  mad  at 
me  she  won't  think  about  anything  else  for  a  while,"  he 
reasoned  shrewdly.  But  all  the  while  his  eyes  were  shiny, 
and  when  he  winked,  his  lashes  became  unaccountably 
moist.  He  stopped  and  looked  out  at  the  blackened 
coulee.  "  Shut  into  this  hole,  week  after  week,  without  a 
woman  to  speak  to  —  it  must  be  —  damned  tough!"  he 
muttered. 


136  LONESOME    LAND 

He  tiptoed  up  and  laid  his  ear  against  the  inner  door, 
and  heard  a  smothered  sobbing  inside.  That  did  not 
sound  as  if  she  were  "mad/'  and  he  promptly  cursed 
himself  for  a  fool  and  a  brute.  With  his  own  judgment 
to  guide  him,  he  brewed  some  very  creditable  tea,  sugared 
and  creamed  it  lavishly,  browned  a  slice  of  bread  on  top 
of  the  stove  —  blowing  off  the  dust  beforehand  —  after 
Arline's  recipe  for  making  toast,  buttered  it  until  it 
dripped  oil,  and  carried  it  in  to  her  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  will  have  peace  even  though  he  must  fight  for  it. 
The  forlorn  picture  she  made,  lying  there  with  her  face 
buried  in  a  pink-and-blue  cushion,  and  with  her  shoulders 
shaking  with  sobs,  almost  made  him  retreat,  quite  un- 
nerved. As  it  was,  he  merely  spilled  a  third  of  the  tea 
and  just  missed  letting  the  toast  slide  from  the  plate  to 
the  floor;  when  he  had  righted  his  burden  he  had  re- 
covered his  composure  to  a  degree. 

"Here,  this  won't  do  at  all,"  he  reproved,  pulling  a 
chair  to  the  couch  by  the  simple  method  of  hooking  his 
toe  under  a  round  and  dragging  it  toward  him.  "You 
don't  want  Man  to  come  and  catch  you  acting  like  this. 
He  's  liable  to  feel  pretty  blue  himself,  and  he  '11  need 
some  cheering  up  —  don't  you  think?  I  don't  know 
for  sure  —  but  I  've  always  been  kinda  under  the  impres- 
sion that 's  what  a  man  gets  a  wife  for.  Ain't  it?  You 
don't  want  to  throw  down  your  cards  now.    You  sit  up 


DESOLATION  137 

and  drink  this  tea,  and  eat  this  toast,  and  I  '11  gamble 
you  *11  feel  about  two  hundred  per  cent,  better. 

"Come,"  he  urged  gently,  after  a  minute.  "I  never 
thought  a  nervy  little  woman  like  you  would  give  up  so 
easy.  I  was  plumb  ashamed  of  myself,  the  way  you 
worked  on  that  back  fire.  You  had  me  going,  for  a  while. 
You  're  just  tired  out,  is  all  ails  you.  You  want  to  hurry 
up  and  drink  this,  before  it  gets  cold.  Come  on.  I  *m 
liable  to  feel  insulted  if  you  pass  up  my  cooking  this 
way." 

Val  choked  back  the  tears,  and,  without  taking  her 
face  from  the  pillow,  put  out  the  burned  hand  gropingly 
until  it  touched  his  knee. 

"Oh,  you  —  you're  good,"  she  said  brokenly.  "I 
used  to  think  you  were  —  horrid,  and  I  'm  a — ashamed. 
You  're  good,  and  I  — " 

"Well,  I  ain't  going  to  be  good  much  longer,  if  you 
don't  get  your  head  outa  that  pillow  and  drink  this 
tea!"  His  tone  was  amused  and  half  impatient.  But 
his  face  —  more  particularly  his  eyes  —  told  another 
story,  which  perhaps  it  was  as  well  she  did  not 
read.  "I  '11  be  dropping  the  blamed  stuff  in  an- 
other minute.  My  elbow 's  plumb  getting  a  cramp 
in  it,"  he  added  complainingly. 

Val  made  a  sound  half-way  between  a  sob  and  a  laugh, 
and  sat  up.    With  more  haste  than  the  occasion  war- 


138  LONESOME    LAND 

ranted,  Kent  put  the  tea  and  toast  on  the  chair  and 
started  for  the  kitchen. 

"I  was  bound  you  'd  eat  before  I  did,"  he  explained, 
"and  I  could  stand  a  cup  of  coffee  myself.  And,  say! 
If  there  's  anything  more  you  want,  just  holler,  and  I  'II 
come  on  the  long  lope." 

Val  took  up  the  teaspoon,  tasted  the  tea,  and  then  re- 
garded the  cup  doubtfully.  She  never  drank  sugar  in 
her  tea.  She  wondered  how  much  of  it  he  had  put  in. 
Her  head  ached  frightfully,  and  she  felt  weak  and  utterly 
hopeless  of  ever  feeling  different. 

"Everything  all  right?"  came  Kent's  voice  from  the 
kitchen. 

"Yes,"  Val  answered  hastily,  trying  hard  to  speak 
with  some  life  and  cheer  in  her  tone.  "It 's  lovely  —  all 
of  it." 

"Want  more  tea?"  It  sounded,  out  there,  as  though 
he  was  pushing  back  his  chair  to  rise  from  the  table. 

"No,  no,  this  is  plenty."  Val  glanced  fearfully  toward 
the  kitchen  door,  lifted  the  teacup,  and  heroically  drank 
every  drop.  It  was,  she  considered,  the  least  that  she 
could  do. 

When  he  had  finished  eating  he  came  in,  and  found  her 
nibbling  apathetically  at  the  toast.  She  looked  up  at  him 
with  an  apology  in  her  eyes. 

"Mr.  Burnett,  don't  think  I  am  always  so  silly,"  she 


DESOLATION  139 

began,  leaning  back  against  the  piled  pillows  with  a  sigh. 
"I  have  always  thought  that  I  could  bear  anything. 
But  last  night  I  did  n't  sleep  much.  I  dreamed  about 
fires,  and  that  Manley  was  —  dead  —  and  I  woke  up  in 
a  perfect  horror.  It  was  only  ten  o'clock.  So  then  I  sat 
up  and  tried  to  read,  and  every  five  minutes  I  would  go 
out  and  look  at  the  sky,  to  see  if  there  was  a  glow  any- 
where. It  was  foolish,  of  course.  And  I  did  n't  sleep  at 
all  to-day,  either.  The  minute  I  would  lie  down  I  'd 
imagine  I  heard  a  fire  roaring.  And  then  it  came.  But  I 
was  all  used  up  before  that,  so  I  was  n't  really  —  I  must 
have  fainted,  for  I  don't  remember  getting  into  the 
house  —  and  I  do  think  fainting  is  the  silliest  thing!  I 
never  did  such  a  thing  before,"  she  finished  abjectly. 

"  Oh,  well  —  I  guess  you  had  a  license  to  faint  if  you 
felt  that  way,"  he  comforted  awkwardly.  "It  was  the 
smoke  and  the  heat,  I  reckon;  they  were  enough  to  put 
a  crimp  in  anybody.  Did  Man  say  about  when  he  would 
be  back?  Because  I  ought  to  be  moving  along;  it 's  quite 
a  walk  to  the  Wishbone." 

"Oh  —  you  won't  go  till  Manley  comes!  Please!  I  — 
I  'd  go  crazy,  here  alone,  and  —  and  he  might  not  come 
—  he  's  frequently  detained.  I  —  I  've  such  a  horror  of 
fires  —  "  She  certainly  looked  as  if  she  had.  She  was 
sitting  up  straight,  her  hands  held  out  appealingly  to  him, 
her  eyes  big  and  bright. 


140  LONESOME    LAND 

"Sure  I  won't  go  if  you  feel  that  way  about  it."  Kent 
was  half  frightened  at  her  wild  manner.  "I  guess  Man 
will  be  along  pretty  soon,  anyway.  He  '11  hit  the  trail  as 
soon  as  he  can  get  behind  the  fire,  that 's  a  cinch.  He  '11 
be  worried  to  death  about  you.  And  you  don't  need  to 
be  afraid  of  prairie  fires  any  more,  Mrs.  Fleetwood;  you  're 
safe.  There  can't  be  any  more  fires  till  next  year,  any- 
way; there  's  nothing  left  to  burn."  He  turned  his  face 
to  the  window  and  stared  out  somberly  at  the  ravaged 
hillside.    "Yes  —  you  're  dead  safe,  now!" 

"I  'm  such  a  fool,"  Val  confessed,  her  eyes  also  turn- 
ing to  the  window.  "  If  you  want  to  go,  I  —  "  Her 
mouth  was  quivering,  and  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"Oh,  I  '11  stay  till  Man  comes.  He  's  liable  to  be  along 
any  time,  now."  He  glanced  at  her  scorched,  smoke- 
stained  dress.  "He  '11  sure  think  you  made  a  hand,  all 
right!" 

Val  took  the  hint,  and  blushed  with  true  feminine 
shame  that  she  was  not  looking  her  best.  "  I  '11  go  and 
change,"  she  murmured,  and  rose  wearily.  "But  I  feel 
as  if  the  world  had  been  '  rolled  up  in  a  scroll  and  burned/ 
as  the  Bible  puts  it,  and  as  if  nothing  matters  any  more." 

"It  does,  though.  We  '11  all  go  right  along  living  the 
same  as  ever,  and  the  first  snow  will  make  this  fire  seem  as 
old  as  the  war  —  except  to  the  cattle;  they  're  the  ones 
to  get  it  in  the  neck  this  winter." 


DESOLATION  141 

He  went  out  and  walked  aimlessly  around  in  the  yard, 
and  went  over  to  the  smoking  remains  of  the  stable,  and 
to  the  heap  of  black  ashes  where  the  stacks  had  been. 
Manley  would  be  hard  hit,  he  knew.  He  wished  he  would 
hurry  and  come,  and  relieve  him  of  the  responsibility  of 
keeping  Val  company.  He  wondered  a  little,  in  his  mas- 
culine way,  that  women  should  always  be  afraid  when 
there  was  no  cause  for  fear.  For  instance,  she  had  stayed 
alone  a  good  many  times,  evidently,  when  there  was  real 
danger  of  a  fire  sweeping  down  upon  her  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night;  but  now,  when  there  was  no  longer  a 
possibility  of  anything  happening,  she  had  turned  white 
and  begged  him  to  stay  —  and  Val,  he  judged  shrewdly, 
was  not  the  sort  of  woman  who  finds  it  easy  to  beg  favors 
of  anybody. 

There  came  a  sound  of  galloping,  up  on  the  hill,  and  he 
turned  quickly.  Dull  dusk  was  settling  bleakly  down 
upon  the  land,  but  he  could  see  three  or  four  horsemen 
just  making  the  first  descent  from  the  top.  He  shouted 
a  wordless  greeting,  and  heard  their  answering  yells.  In 
another  minute  or  two  they  were  pulling  up  at  the  house, 
where  he  had  hurried  to  meet  them.  Val,  tucking  a  side 
comb  hastily  into  her  freshly  coiled  hair,  her  pretty 
self  clothed  all  in  white  linen,  appeared  eagerly  in  the 
doorway. 

"Why  —  where  's  Manley? "    she  demanded  anxiously. 


142  LONESOME    LAND 

Blumenthall  was  dismounting  near  her,  and  he  touched 
his  hat  before  he  answered.  "We  were  on  the  way  home, 
and  we  thought  we  'd  better  ride  around  this  way  and  see 
how  you  came  out,"  he  evaded.  "I  see  you  lost  your 
hay  and  buildings  —  pretty  close  call  for  the  house,  too, 
I  should  judge.  You  must  have  got  here  in  time  to  do 
something,  Kent." 

"But  where  's  Manley?"  Val  was  growing  pale  again. 
"Has  anything  happened?    Is  he  hurt?    Tell  me!" 

"Oh,  he's  all  right,  Mrs.  Fleetwood."  Blumenthall 
glanced  meaningly  at  Kent  —  and  Fred  De  Garmo, 
sitting  to  one  side  of  his  saddle,  looked  at  Polycarp  Jenks 
and  smiled  slightly.  "We  left  town  ahead  of  him,  and 
knocked  right  along." 

Val  regarded  the  group  suspiciously.  "He's  coming, 
then,  is  he?" 

"Oh,  certainly.  Glad  you  're  all  right,  Mrs.  Fleetwood. 
That  was  an  awful  fire  —  it  swept  the  whole  country  clean 
between  the  two  rivers,  I  'm  afraid.  This  wind  made  it 
bad."  He  was  tightening  his  cinch,  and  now  he  un- 
hooked the  stirrup  from  the  horn  and  mounted  again. 
"We  '11  have  to  be  getting  along  —  don't  know,  yet,  how 
we  came  out  of  it  over  to  the  ranch.  But  our  guards 
ought  to  have  stopped  it  there."  He  looked  at  Kent. 
"How  did  the  Wishbone  make  it?"  he  inquired. 

"I  was  just  going  to  ask  you  if  you  knew,"  Kent  re- 


DESOLATION  143 

plied,  scowling  because  he  saw  Fred  looking  at  Val  in 
what  he  considered  an  impertinent  manner.  "My  horse 
ran  off  while  I  was  fighting  fire  here,  so  I  'm  afoot.  I  was 
waiting  for  Man  to  show  up." 

"You  '11  git  all  of  that  you  want  —  he-he!"  Poly  carp 
cut  in  tactlessly.  "Man  won't  git  home  t '-night  —  not 
unless  —  " 

"Aw,  come  on."  Fred  started  along  the  charred  trail 
which  led  across  the  coulee  and  up  the  farther  side. 
Blumenthall  spoke  a  last,  commonplace  sentence  or  two, 
just  to  round  off  the  conversation  and  make  the  termina- 
tion not  too  abrupt,  and  they  rode  away,  with  Polycarp 
glancing  curiously  back,  now  and  then,  as  though  he  was 
tempted  to  stay  and  gossip,  and  yet  was  anxious  to  know 
all  that  had  happened  at  the  Double  Diamond. 

"What  did  Polycarp  Jenks  mean  —  about  Manley  not 
coming  to-night?"  Val  was  standing  in  the  doorway, 
staring  after  the  group  of  horsemen. 

"Nothing,  I  guess.  Polycarp  never  does  mean  any- 
thing half  the  time;  he  just  talks  to  hear  his  head  roar. 
Man  '11  come,  all  right.  This  bunch  happened  to  beat 
him  out,  is  all." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?  Mr.  Blumenthall  acted  as  if 
there  was  something  —  " 

"Well,  what  can  you  expect  of  a  man  that  lives  on  oat- 
meal mush  and  toast  and  hot  water?"  Kent  demanded 


144  LONESOME    LAND 

aggressively.  "And  Fred  De  Garmo  is  always  grinning 
and  winking  at  somebody;  and  that  other  fellow  is  a 
Swede  and  got  about  as  much  sense  as  a  prairie  dog  —  and 
Polycarp  is  an  old  granny  gossip  that  nobody  ever  pays 
any  attention  to.  Man  won't  stay  in  town  —  he  '11  be 
too  anxious." 

"It's  terrible,"  sighed  Val,  "about  the  hay  and  the 
stables.  Manley  will  be  so  discouraged  —  he  worked  so 
hard  to  cut  and  stack  that  hay.  And  he  was  just  going 
to  gather  the  calves  together  and  put  them  in  the  river 
field,  in  a  couple  of  weeks  —  and  now  there  is  n't  any- 
thing to  feed  them!" 

"I  guess  he's  coming;  I  hear  somebody."  Kent  was 
straining  his  eyes  to  see  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  the 
dismal  night  shadows  lay  heavily  upon  the  dismal  black 
earth.  "Sounds  to  me  like  a  rig,  though.  Maybe  he 
drove  out."  He  left  her,  went  to  the  wire  gate  which 
gave  egress  from  the  tiny,  unkempt  yard,  and  walked 
along  the  trail  to  meet  the  newcomer. 
'  "You  stay  there,"  he  called  back,  when  he  thought  he 
heard  Val  following  him.  "  I  'm  just  going  to  tell  him 
you  're  all  right.  You  '11  get  that  white  dress  all  smudged 
up  in  these  ashes." 

In  the  narrow  little  gully  where  the  trail  crossed  the 
half-dry  channel  from  the  spring  he  met  the  rig.  The 
driver  pulled  up  when  he  caught  sight  of  Kent. 


DESOLATION  145 

"Who's  that?  Did  she  git  out  of  it?''  cried  Arline 
Hawley,  in  a  breathless  undertone.  "Oh  —  it's  you,  is 
it,  Kent?  I  could  n't  stand  it  —  I  just  had  to  come  and 
see  if  she  's  alive.  So  I  made  Jlank  hitch  right  up  —  as 
soon  as  we  knew  the  fire  was  n't  going  to  git  into  all  that 
brush  along  the  creek,  and  run  down  to  the  town  —  and 
bring  me  over.    And  the  way-^" 

"But  Where's  Man?"  Kent  laid  a  hand  upon  the 
wheel  and  shot  the  question  into  the  stream  of  Arline's 
talk. 

"Man!  I  dunno  what  devil  gits  into  men  sometimes. 
Man  went  and  got  drunk  as  a  fool  soon  as  he  seen  the  fire 
and  knew  what  coulda  happened  out  here.  Started  right 
in  to  drownd  his  sorrows  before  he  made  sure  whether  he 
had  any  to  drown!  If  that  ain't  like  a  man,  every  time! 
Time  we  all  got  back  to  town,  and  the  fire  was  kiting 
away  from  us  instead  of  coming  up  toward  us,  he  was  too 
drunk  to  do  anything.  He  must  of  poured  it  down  him 
by  the  quart.    He  —  " 

"Manley!  Is  that  you,  dear?"  It  was  Val,  a  slim, 
white  figure  against  the  blackness  all  around  her,  coming 
down  the  trail  to  see  what  delayed  them.  "Why  don't 
you  come  to  the  house?  There  is  a  house,  you  know. 
We  are  n't  quite  burned  out.  And  I  'm  all  right,  so 
there 's  no  need  to  worry  any  more." 

"Now,  ain't  that  a  darned  shame?"   muttered  Arline 


146  LONESOME    LAND 

wrathf uUy  to  Kent.  "  A  feller  that  '11  drink  when  he  's  got 
a  wife  like  that  had  oughta  be  hung! 

"It's  me,  Ariine  Hawley!"  She  raised  her  voice  to 
its  ordinary  shrill  level.  "It  ain't  just  the  proper  time 
to  make  a  call,  I  guess,  but  it 's  better  late  than  never. 
Man,  he  was  took  with  one  of  his  spells,  so  I  told 
him  I  'd  come  on  out  and  take  you  back  to  town.  How 
are  you,  anyhow?  Scared  plumb  to  death,  I  '11  bet, 
when  that  fire  come  over  the  hill.  You  need  n't  'a' 
tramped  clear  down  here  —  we  was  coming  on  to  the 
house  in  a  minute.  I  got  to  chewin'  the  rag  with 
Kent.  Git  in;  you  might  as  well  ride  back  to  the 
house,  now  you  're  here." 

"Manley  did  n't  come?"  Val  was  standing  beside  the 
rig,  near  Kent.  Her  white-clothed  figure  was  indistinct, 
and  her  face  obscured  in  the  dark.  Her  voice  was  quiet  — 
lifelessly  quiet.     "Is  he  sick?" 

"Well  —  of  course  his  nerves  was  all  upset  —  " 

"Oh!    Then  he  ^  sick?" 

"Well  —  nothing  dangerous,  but  —  he  wasn't  feelin' 
well,  so  I  thought  I  'd  come  out  and  take  you  back  with 
me." 

"Oh!" 

"Man  was  awful  worried;  you  mustn't  think  he 
wasn't.     He  was  pretty  near  crazy,  for  a  while." 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly." 


DESOLATION  147 

"Get  in  and  ride.  And  you  must  n't  worry  none  about 
Man,  nor  feel  hurt  that  he  did  n't  come.   He  felt  so  bad  —  " 

"I'll  walk,  thank  you;  it's  only  a  few  steps.  And 
I  'm  not  worried  at  all.    I  quite  understand." 

The  team  started  on  slowly,  and  Mrs.  Hawley  turned 
in  the  seat  so  that  she  could  continue  talking  without 
interruption  to  the  two  who  walked  behind.  But  it  was 
Kent  who  answered  her  at  intervals,  when  she  asked  a 
direct  question  or  appeared  to  be  waiting  for  some  com- 
ment. Betweenwhiles  he  was  wondering  if  Val  did,  after 
all,  understand.  She  knew  so  little  of  the  West  and  its 
ways,  and  her  faith  in  Manley  was  so  firm  and  unques- 
tioning, that  he  felt  sure  she  was  only  hurt  at  what  looked 
very  much  like  an  indifference  to  her  welfare.  He  sus- 
pected shrewdly  that  she  was  thinking  what  she  would 
have  done  in  Mauley's  place,  and  was  trying  to  reconcile 
Mrs.  Hawley's  assurances  that  Manley  was  not  actually 
sick  or  disabled  with  the  blunt  fact  that  he  had  stayed 
in  town  and  permitted  others  to  come  out  to  see  if  she 
were  alive  or  dead. 

And  Kent  had  another  problem  to  solve.  Should  he 
tell  her  the  truth?  He  had  never  ceased  to  feel,  in  some 
measure,  responsible  for  her  position.  And  she  was  sure 
to  discover  the  truth  before  long;  not  even  her  innocence 
and  her  ignorance  of  life  could  shield  her  from  that  knowl- 
edge.   He  let  a  question  or  two  of  Arline's  go  unanswered 


148  LONESOME    LAND 

while  he  struggled  for  a  decision,  but  when  they  reached 
the  house,  only  one  point  was  clearly  settled  in  his  mind. 
Instead  of  riding  as  far  as  he  might,  and  then  walking 
across  the  prairie  to  the  Wishbone,  he  intended  to  go  on 
to  town  with  them  —  "to  see  her  through  with  it." 


CHAPTER  XI 


val's  awakening 


VAL  stood  just  inside  the  door  of  the  hotel  parlor 
and  glanced  swiftly  around  at  the  place  of  un- 
pleasant memory. 

"No,  I  must  see  Manley  before  I  can  tell  you  whether 
we  shall  want  to  stay  or  not,"  she  replied  to  Arline's 
insistence  that  she  "go  right  up  to  a  room"  and  lie  down. 
"I  feel  quite  well,  and  you  must  not  bother  about  me 
at  all.  If  Mr.  Burnett  will  be  good  enough  to  send  Man- 
ley  to  me  —  I  must  see  him  first  of  all."  It  was  Val  in 
her  most  unapproachable  mood,  and  Arline  subsided 
before  it. 

"Well,  then,  I  '11  go  and  send  word  to  Man,  and  see 
about  some  supper  for  us.  I  feel  as  if  /  could  eat  ten- 
penny  nails!"  She  went  out  into  the  hall,  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then  boldly  invaded  the  "office." 

"Say!  have  you  got  Man  rounded  up  yit?"  she  de- 
manded of  her  husband.  "And  how  is  he,  anyhow? 
That  girl  ain't  got  the  first  idea  of  what  ails  him  —  how 
anybody  with  the  brains  and  edecation  she  's  got  can 


150  LONESOME    LAND 

be  so  thick-headed  gits  me.  Jim  told  me  Man  *s  been 
packing  a  bottle  or  two  home  with  him  every  trip  he  's 
made  for  the  last  month  —  and  she  don't  know  a  thing 
about  it.  I  'd  like  to  know  what  'n  time  they  learn  folks 
back  East,  anyhow;  to  put  their  eyes  and  their  sense 
in  their  pockets,  I  guess,  and  go  along  blind  as  bats. 
Where  's  Kent  at?  Did  he  go  after  him?  She  won't  do 
nothing  till  she  sees  Man  — " 

At  that  moment  Kent  came  in,  and  his  disgust  needed 
no  words.  He  answered  Mrs.  Hawley's  inquiring  look 
with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"I  can't  do  anything  with  him,"  he  said  morosely. 
"He  's  so  full  he  don't  know  he  's  got  a  wife,  hardly. 
You  better  go  and  tell  her,  Mrs.  Hawley.  Somebody  's 
got  to." 

"Oh,  my  heavens!"  Arline  clutched  at  the  doorknob 
for  moral  support.  "I  could  no  more  face  them  yellow 
eyes  of  hern  when  they  blaze  up  —  you  go  tell  her  your- 
self, if  you  want  her  told.  I  've  got  to  see  about  some 
supper  for  us.  I  ain't  had  a  bite  since  dinner,  and  Min  's 
off  gadding  somewheres  — "  She  hurried  away,  mentally 
washing  her  hands  of  the  affair.  "  Women  's  got  to  learn 
some  time  what  men  is,"  she  soliloquized,  "and  I  guess 
she  ain't  no  better  than  any  of  the  rest  of  us,  that  she 
can't  learn  to  take  her  medicine  —  but  /  ain't  goin'  to 
be  the  one  to  tell  her  what  kinda  fellow  she  's  tied  to. 


VAL'S    AWAKENING  151 

My  stunt  '11  be  helpin'  her  pick  up  the  pieces  and  make 
the  best  of  it  after  she  's  told." 

She  stopped,  just  inside  the  dining  room,  and  listened 
until  she  heard  Kent  cross  the  hall  from  the  office  and 
open  the  parlor  door.  "Gee!  It's  like  a  hanginV'  she 
sighed.  "If  she  wasn't  so  plumb  innocent — "  She 
started  for  the  door  which  opened  into  the  parlor  from 
the  dining  room,  strongly  tempted  to  eavesdrop.  She 
did  yield  so  far  as  to  put  her  ear  to  the  keyhole,  but  the 
silence  within  impressed  her  strangely,  and  she  retreated 
to  the  kitchen  and  closed  the  door  tightly  behind  her  as 
the  most  practical  method  of  bidding  Satan  begone. 

The  silence  in  the  parlor  lasted  while  Kent,  standing 
with  his  back  against  the  door,  faced  Val  and  meditated 
swiftly  upon  the  manner  of  his  telling. 

"Well?"  she  demanded  at  last.  "I  am  still  waiting 
to  see  Manley.  I  am  not  quite  a  child,  Mr.  Burnett.  I 
know  something  is  the  matter,  and  you  —  if  you  have 
any  pity,  or  any  feeling  of  friendship,  you  will  tell  me 
the  truth.  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that  Arline  was  — ■ 
lying  to  me  all  the  time  about  Manley?  You  helped  her 
to  lie.  So  did  that  other  man.  I  waited  until  I  reached 
town,  where  I  could  do  something,  and  now  you  must 
tell  me  the  truth.  Manley  is  badly  hurt,  or  he  is  dead. 
Tell  me  which  it  is,  and  take  me  to  him."  She  spoke 
fast,  as  if  she  was  afraid  she  might  not  be  able  to  finish. 


152  LONESOME    LAND 

and,  though  her  voice  was  even  and  low,  it  was  also  flat 
and  toneless  with  her  effort  to  seem  perfectly  calm  and 
self-controlled. 

Kent  looked  at  her,  forgot  all  about  leading  up  to  the 
truth  by  easy  stages,  as  he  had  intended  to  do,  and  gave 
it  to  her  straight.  "He  ain't  either  one,"  he  said.  "He's 
drunk!" 

Val  stared  at  him.  "Drunk!"  He  could  see  how  even 
her  lips  shrank  from  the  word.  She  threw  up  her  head. 
"That,"  she  declared  icily,  "I  know  to  be  impossible!" 

"Oh,  do  you?  Let  me  tell  you  that 's  never  impossible 
with  a  man,  not  when  there  's  whisky  handy." 

"Manley  is  not  that  sort  of  a  man.  When  he  left  me, 
three  years  ago,  he  promised  me  never  to  frequent  places 
where  liquor  is  sold.  He  never  had  touched  liquor;  he 
never  was  tempted  to  touch  it.  But,  just  to  be  doubly 
sure,  he  promised  me,  on  his  honor.  He  has  never  broken 
that  promise;  I  know,  because  he  told  me  so."  She 
made  the  explanation  scornfully,  as  if  her  pride  and  her 
belief  in  Manley  almost  forbade  the  indignity  of  explain- 
ing. "I  don't  know  why  you  should  come  here  and 
insult  me,"  she  added,  with  a  lofty  charity  for  his  sin. 

"I  don't  see  how  it  can  insult  you,"  he  contended. 
"You've  got  a  different  way  of  looking  at  things, but 
that  won't  help  you  to  dodge  facts.  Man  's  drunk.  I 
said  it,  and  I  mean  it.    It  ain't  the  first  time,  nor  the 


VAL'S    AWAKENING  153 

second.  He  was  drunk  the  day  you  came,  and  could  n't 
meet  the  train.  That 's  why  I  met  you.  I  ought  to  Ve 
told  you,  I  guess,  but  I  hated  to  make  you  feel  bad.  So 
I  went  to  work  and  sobered  him  up,  and  sent  him  over 
to  get  married.  I  Ve  always  been  kinda  sorry  for  that. 
It  was  a  low-down  trick  to  play  on  you,  and  that 's  a 
fact.  You  ought  to  've  had  a  chance  to  draw  outa  the 
game,  but  I  did  n't  think  about  it  at  the  time.  Man 
and  I  have  always  been  pretty  good  friends,  and  I  was 
thinking  of  his  side  of  the  case.  I  thought  he  'd  straighten 
up  after  he  got  married;  he  was  n't  such  a  hard  drinker  — 
only  he  'd  go  on  a  toot  when  he  got  into  town,  like  lots 
of  men.  I  did  n't  think  it  had  such  a  strong  hold  on  him. 
And  I  knew  he  thought  a  lot  of  you,  and  if  you  went 
back  on  him  it  'd  hit  him  pretty  hard.  Man  ain't  a  bad 
fellow,  only  for  that.  And  he  's  Uable  to  do  better  when 
he  finds  out  you  know  about  it.  A  man  will  do  'most 
anything  for  a  woman  he  thinks  a  lot  of." 

"Indeed!"  Val  was  sitting  now  upon  the  red  plush 
chair.  Her  face  was  perfectly  colorless,  her  manner 
frozen.  The  word  seemed  to  speak  itself,  without 
having  any  relation  whatever  to  her  thoughts  and  her 
emotions. 

Kent  waited.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  took  it  harder 
than  she  would  have  taken  the  news  that  Manley  was 
dead.    He  had  no  means  of  gauging  the  horror  of  a  young 


154  LONESOME    LAND 

woman  who  has  all  her  life  been  familiar  with  such  terms 
as  "the  demon  rum,"  and  who  has  been  taught  that 
"intemperance  is  the  doorway  to  perdition";  a  young 
woman  whose  life  has  been  sheltered  jealously  from  all 
contact  with  the  ugly  things  of  the  world,  and  who  believes 
that  she  might  better  die  than  marry  a  drunkard.  He 
watched  her  unobtrusively. 

"Anyway,  it  was  worrying  over  you  that  made  him 
get  off  wrong  to-day,"  he  ventured  at  last,  as  a  sort  of 
palliative.  "They  say  he  was  going  to  start  home  right 
in  the  face  of  the  fire,  and  when  they  would  n't  let  him, 
he  headed  straight  for  a  saloon  and  commenced  to  pour 
whisky  down  him.  He  thought  sure  you  —  he  thought 
the  fire  would — " 

"I  see,"  Val  interrupted  stonily.  "For  the  very  doubt- 
ful honor  of  shaking  the  hand  of  a  politician,  he  left  me 
alone  to  face  as  best  I  might  the  possibility  of  burning 
alive;  and  when  it  seemed  likely  that  the  possibility  had 
become  a  certainty,  he  must  celebrate  his  bereavement 
by  becoming  a  beast.  Is  that  what  you  would  have  me 
believe  of  my  husband?  " 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  Kent  admitted  reluct- 
antly. "Only  I  wouldn't  have  put  it  just  that  way, 
maybe." 

"Indeed!    And  how  would  you  put  it,  then?" 

Kent  leaned  harder  against  the  door,  and  looked  at 


VAL'S    AWAKENING  155 

her  curiously.  Women,  it  seemed  to  him,  were  always 
going  to  extremes;  they  were  either  too  soft  and  meek, 
or  else  they  were  too  hard  and  unmerciful. 

"How  would  you  put  it?  I  am  rather  curious  to  know 
your  point  of  view." 

"Well,  I  know  men  better  than  you  do,  Mrs.  Fleet- 
wood. I  know  they  can  do  some  things  that  look  pretty 
rotten  on  the  surface,  and  yet  be  fairly  decent  under- 
neath. You  don't  know  how  a  habit  like  that  gets  a 
fellow  just  where  he  's  weakest.  Man  ain't  a  beast.  He  's 
selfish  and  careless,  and  he  gives  way  too  easy,  but  he 
thinks  the  world  of  you.  Jim  says  he  cried  like  a  baby 
when  he  came  into  the  saloon,  and  acted  like  a  crazy 
man.  You  don't  want  to  be  too  hard  on  him.  I  've  an 
idea  this  will  learn  him  a  lesson.  If  you  take  him  the 
right  way,  Mrs.  Fleetwood,  the  chances  are  he  '11  quit 
drinking." 

Val  smiled.  Kent  thought  he  had  never  before  seen 
a  smile  like  that,  and  hoped  he  never  would  see  another. 
There  was  in  it  neither  mercy  nor  mirth,  but  only  the 
hard  judgment  of  a  woman  who  does  not  understand. 

"Will  you  bring  him  to  me  here,  Mr.  Burnett?  I  do 
not  feel  quite  equal  to  invading  a  saloon  and  begging 
him,  on  my  knees,  to  come  —  after  the  conventional 
manner  of  drunkards'  wives.  But  I  should  Hke  to  see 
him." 


156  LONESOME    LAND 

Kent  stared.  "He  ain't  in  any  shape  to  argue  with," 
he  remonstrated.     "You  better  wait  a  while." 

She  rested  her  chin  upon  her  hands,  folded  upon  the 
high  chair  back,  and  gazed  at  him  with  her  tawny  eyes, 
that  somehow  reminded  Kent  of  a  lioness  in  a  cage.  He 
thought  swiftly  that  a  lioness  would  have  as  much  mercy 
as  she  had  in  that  mood. 

"Mr.  Burnett,"  she  began  quietly,  when  Kent's  nerves 
were  beginning  to  feel  the  strain  of  her  silent  stare,  "I 
want  to  see  Manley  as  he  is  now,  I  will  tell  you  why. 
You  are  n't  a  woman,  and  you  never  will  understand,  but 
I  shall  tell  you;  I  want  to  tell  somebody. 

"I  was  raised  well  —  that  sounds  queer,  but  modesty 
forbids  more.  At  any  rate,  my  mother  was  very  careful 
about  me.  She  believed  in  a  girl  marrying  and  becoming 
a  good  wife  to  a  good  man,  and  to  that  end  she  taught  me 
and  trained  me.  A  woman  must  give  her  all  —  her  life, 
her  past,  present,  and  future  —  to  the  man  she  marries. 
For  three  years  I  thought  how  unworthy  I  was  to  be 
Manley 's  wife.  Unworthy,  do  you  hear?  I  slept  with  his 
letters  under  my  pillow."  The  self-contempt  in  her  tone  I 
"I  studied  the  things  I  thought  would  make  me  a  better 
companion  out  here  in  the  wilderness.  I  practiced  hours 
and  hours  every  day  upon  my  violin,  because  Manley  had 
admired  my  playing,  and  I  thought  it  would  please  him 
to  have  me  play  in  the  firelight  on  winter  evenings,  when 


VAL'S    AWAKENING  157 

the  blizzards  were  howling  about  the  house!  I  learned 
to  cook,  to  wash  clothes,  to  iron,  to  sweep,  and  to  scrub, 
and  to  make  my  own  clothes,  because  Manley^s  wife 
would  live  where  she  could  not  hire  servants  to  do  these 
things.  I  lived  a  beautiful,  picturesque  dream  of  domestic 
happiness. 

"  I  left  my  friends,  my  home,  all  the  things  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  all  my  life,  and  I  came  out  here  to  live  that 
dream ! "    She  laughed  bitterly. 

"You  can  easily  guess  how  much  of  it  has  come  true, 
Mr.  Burnett.  But  you  don't  know  what  it  costs  a  girl  to 
come  down  from  the  clouds  and  find  that  reality  is  hard 
and  ugly  —  from  dreaming  of  a  cozy  little  nest  of  a  home, 
and  the  love  and  care  of  —  of  Manley,  to  the  reality  — 
to  carrying  water  and  chopping  wood  and  being  left  alone, 
day  after  day,  and  to  find  that  his  love  only  meant  —  Oh, 
you  don't  know  how  a  woman  cHngs  to  her  ideals!  You 
don't  know  how  I  have  clung  to  mine.  They  have  be- 
come rather  tattered,  and  I  have  had  to  mend  them  often, 
but  I  have  clung  to  them,  even  though  they  do  not  re- 
semble much  the  dreams  I  brought  with  me  to  this 
horrible    country. 

"  But  if  it  's  true,  what  you  tell  me  —  if  Manley  him- 
self is  another  disillusionment  —  if  beyond  his  selfishness 
and  his  carelessness  he  is  a  drunken  brute  whom  I  can't 
even  respect,  then  I  'm  done  with  my  ideals.    I  want  to 


158  LONESOME    LAND 

see  him  just  as  he  is.  I  want  to  see  him  once  without  the 
halo  I  have  kept  shining  all  these  months.  I  Ve  got  my 
life  to  live  —  but  I  want  to  face  facts  and  live  facts.  I 
can't  go  on  dreaming  and  making  believe,  after  this.'* 
She  stopped  and  looked  at  him  speculatively,  absolutely 
without  emotion. 

"Just  before  I  left  home,"  she  went  on  in  the  same  calm 
quiet,  "a  girl  showed  me  some  verses  written  by  a  very 
wicked  man.  At  least,  they  say  he  is  very  wicked  —  at 
any  rate,  he  is  in  jail.  I  thought  the  verses  horrible  and 
brutal;  but  now  I  think  the  man  must  be  very  wise.  I 
remember  a  few  lines,  and  they  seem  to  me  to  mean 

Manley. 

"For  each  man  kills  the  thing  he  loves  — 
Some  do  it  with  a  bitter  look, 
Some  with  a  flattering  word; 
The  coward  does  it  with  a  kiss, 
The  brave  man  with  a  sword. 

"  I  don't  remember  all  of  it,  but  there  was  another  line 

or  two: 

"The  kindest  use  a  knife,  because 
The  dead  so  soon  grow  cold. 

"  I  wish  I  had  that  poem  now  —  I  think  I  could  under- 
stand it.    I  think  —  " 

"  I  think  you  Ve  got  talking  hysterics,  if  there  is  such 
a  thing,"  Kent  interrupted  harshly.  "You  don't  know 
half  what  you  're  saying.  You  've  had  a  hard  day,  and 
you  're  all  tired  out,  and  everything  looks  outa  focus.    I 


VAL'S    AWAKENING  159 

know  —  I  Ve  seen  men  like  that  sometimes  when  some 
trouble  hit  *em  hard  and  unexpected.  What  you  want  is 
sleep;  not  poetry  about  killing  people.  A  man,  in  the 
shape  you  are  in,  takes  to  whisky.  You  're  taking  to 
graveyard  poetry  —  and,  if  you  ask  me,  that 's  worse  than 
whisky.  You  ain't  normal.  What  you  want  to  do  is  go 
straight  to  bed.  When  you  wake  up  in  the  morning  you 
won't  feel  so  bad.  You  won't  have  half  as  many  troubles 
as  you  Ve  got  now." 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  understand  it,"  Val  remarked 
coldly,  still  staring  at  him  with  her  chin  on  her  hands. 

"You  won't  yourself,  to-morrow  morning,"  Kent  de- 
clared unsympathetically,  and  called  Mrs.  Hawley  from 
the  kitchen.  "You  better  put  Mrs.  Fleetwood  to  bed," 
he  advised  gruffly.  "  And  if  you  ' ve  got  anything  that  '11 
make  her  sleep,  give  her  a  dose  of  it.  She  's  so  tired 
she  can't  see  straight."  He  was  nearly  to  the  outside 
door  when  Val  recovered  her  speech. 

"You  men  are  all  alike,"  she  said  contemptuously. 
"You  give  orders  and  you  consider  yourselves  above  all 
the  laws  of  morality  or  decency;  in  reality  you  are  beneath 
them.  We  should  n't  expect  anything  of  the  lower  ani- 
mals!   How  I  despise  men!" 

"Now  you're  talking,"  grinned  Kent,  quite  unmoved. 
"Whack  us  in  a  bunch  all  you  like  —  but  don't  make  one 
poor  devil  take  it  all.    Men  as  a  class  are  used  to  it  and 


160  LONESOME    LAND 

can  stand  it."  He  was  laughing  as  he  left  the  room, 
but  his  amusement  lasted  only  until  the  door  was  closed 
behind  him.  "Lord!"  he  exclaimed,  and  drew  a  deep 
breath.  "  I  'd  sure  hate  to  have  that  little  woman  say 
all  them  things  about  me!"  and  glanced  involuntarily 
over  his  shoulder  to  where  a  crack  of  light  showed  under 
the  faded  green  shade  of  one  of  the  parlor  windows. 

He  crossed  the  street  and  entered  the  saloon  where 
Manley  was  still  drinking  heavily,  his  face  crimson  and 
blear-eyed  and  brutalized,  his  speech  thickened  disgust- 
ingly. He  was  sprawled  in  an  armchair,  waving  an  empty 
glass  in  an  erratic  attempt  to  mark  the  time  of  a  college 
ditty  six  or  seven  years  out  of  date,  which  he  was  trying 
to  sing.    He  leered  up  at  Kent. 

"Wife  'sail  righ',''  he  informed  him  solemnly.  "Knew 
she  would  be  —  fine  guards  's  got  out  there.  'Sail  righ' — 
somebody  shaid  sho.    Have  a  drink." 

Kent  glowered  down  at  him,  made  a  swift,  mental  de- 
cision, and  gripped  him  by  the  shoulder.  "You  come 
with  me,"  he  commanded.  "I've  got  something  im- 
portant I  want  to  tell  you.    Come  on  —  if  you  can  walk." 

"'Course  I  c'n  walk  all  righ'.  Shertainly  I  can  walk. 
Wha's  makes  you  think  I  can't  walk?  Want  to  inshult 
me?  'Sail  my  friends  here  —  no  secrets  from  my  friends. 
Wha's  want  tell  me?    Shay  it  here." 

Kent  was  a  big  man;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  tall,  well- 


VAL'S    AWAKENING  161 

muscled  and  active.  But  so  was  Manley.  Kent  tried 
the  power  of  persuasion,  leaving  force  as  a  last,  doubt- 
ful result.  In  fifteen  minutes  or  thereabouts  he  had 
succeeded  in  getting  Manley  outside  the  door,  and  there 
he  balked. 

"Wha's  matter  wish  you?"  he  complained,  pulling 
back.  "Cm  on  back  *n'  have  drink.  Wha's  wanna 
tell  me?" 

"You  wait.  I '11  tell  you  all  about  it  in  a  minute.  I've 
got  something  to  show  you,  and  I  don't  want  the  bunch 
to  get  next.    Savvy?" 

He  had  a  sickening  sense  that  the  subterfuge  would  not 
have  deceived  a  five-year-old  child,  but  it  was  accepted 
without  question. 

He  led  Manley  stumbling  up  the  street,  evading  a 
direct  statement  as  to  his  destination,  pulled  him  off  the 
board  walk,  and  took  him  across  a  vacant  lot  well  sprinkled 
with  old  shoes  and  tin  cans.  Here  Manley  fell  down, 
and  Kent's  patience  was  well  tested  before  he  got  him  up 
and  going  again. 

"Where  y'  goin'?"  Manley  inquired  pettishly,  as  often 
as  he  could  bring  his  tongue  to  the  labor  of  articulation. 

"You  wait  and  I  '11  show  you,"  was  Kent's  unvaried 
reply. 

At  last  he  pushed  open  a  door  and  led  his  victim  into 
the  darkness  of  a  small,  windowless  building.    "It's  in. 


162  LONESOME    LAND 

here  —  back  against  the  wall,  there/*  he  said,  pulling 
Manley  after  him.  By  feeling,  and  by  a  good  sense  of 
location,  he  arrived  at  a  rough  bunk  built  against  the 
farther  wall,  with  a  blanket  or  two  upon  it. 

"There  you  are,"  he  announced  grimly.  "You  '11 
have  a  sweet  time  getting  anything  to  drink  here,  old 
boy.  When  you  're  sober  enough  to  face  your  wife  and 
have  some  show  of  squaring  yourself  with  her,  I  '11  come 
and  let  you  out."  He  had  pushed  Manley  down  upon  the 
bunk,  and  had  reached  the  door  before  the  other  could 
get  up  and  come  at  him.  He  pulled  the  door  shut  with  a 
slam,  slipped  a  padlock  into  the  staple,  and  snapped  it 
just  before  Manley  lurched  heavily  against  it.  He  was 
cursing  as  well  as  he  could  —  was  Manley,  and  he  began 
kicking  like  an  unruly  child  shut  into  a  closet. 

"Aw,  let  up,"  Kent  advised  him,  through  a  crack  in  the 
walL  "Want  to  know  where  you  are?  Well,  you  're  in 
Hawley's  ice  house;  you  know  it 's  a  fine  place  for  drunks 
to  sober  up  in;  it 's  awful  popular  for  that  purpose.  Aw, 
you  can't  do  any  business  kicking  —  that 's  been  tried 
lots  of  times.  This  is  sure  well  built,  for  an  ice  house. 
No,  I  can't  let  you  out.  Could  n't  possibly,  you  know. 
I  have  n't  got  the  key  —  old  lady  Hawley  has  got  it,  and 
she  's  gone  to  bed  hours  ago.  You  go  to  sleep  and  forget 
about  it.  I  '11  talk  to  you  in  the  morning.  Good  night, 
and  pleasant  dreams!" 


VAL'S    AWAKENING  163 

The  last  thing  Kent  heard  as  he  walked  away  was 
Manley's  profane  promise  to  cut  Kent's  heart  out  very 
early  the  next  day. 

"The  darned  fool,"  Kent  commented,  as  he  stopped  in 
the  first  patch  of  lamplight  to  roll  a  cigarette.  "He  ain't 
got  another  friend  in  town  that  'd  go  to  the  trouble  I  Ve 
gone  to  for  him.  He  '11  realize  it,  too,  when  all  that 
whisky  quits  stewing  inside  him." 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  LESSON  IN  FORGIVENESS 

""Y"E  TELL,  old-timer,  how  you  coming?  You  sure  do 
»  ▼  sleep  sound  —  this  is  the  third  time  I  Ve  come 
to  tell  you  breakfast  is  ready  and  then  some.  You  '11  get 
the  bottom  of  the  coffeepot,  for  fair,  if  you  don't  hustle." 
Kent  left  the  door  of  the  ice  house  wide  open  behind  him, 
so  that  the  warmth  of  mid-morning  swept  in  to  do  battle 
with  the  chill  and  damp  of  wet  sawdust  and  buried  ice. 

Manley  rolled  over  so  that  he  faced  his  visitor,  and  his 
reply  was  abusive  in  the  extreme.  Kent  waited,  with  an 
air  of  impersonal  interest,  until  he  was  done  and  had 
turned  his  face  away  as  though  the  subject  was  quite 
exhausted. 

"Well,  now  you  Ve  got  that  load  off  your  mind,  come 
on  over  and  get  a  cup  of  coffee.  But  while  you  're  think- 
ing about  whether  you  want  anything  but  my  heart's 
blood,  I  'm  going  to  speak  right  up  and  tell  you  a  few  things 
that  commonly  ain't  none  of  my  business. 

"Do  you  know  your  wife  came  within  an  ace  of  burning 
to  death  yesterday?"  Manley  sat  up  with  a  jerk  and 
glared  at  him,    "Do  you  know  you  're  bururf  put,  slick 


A    LESSON    IN    FORGIVENESS    165 

and  clean  —  all  except  the  shack?  Hay,  stables,  corral, 
wagons,  chickens  —  "  Kent  spread  his  hands  in  a  ges- 
ture including  all  minor  details.  "  I  rode  over  there  when 
I  saw  the  fire  coming,  and  it 's  lucky  I  did,  old-timer.  I 
back-fired  and  saved  the  house  —  and  your  wife  —  from 
going  up  in  smoke.  But  everything  else  went.  Let  that 
sink  into  your  system,  will  you?  And  just  see  if  you  can 
draw  a  picture  of  what  woulda  happened  if  nobody  had 
showed  up  —  if  that  fire  had  hit  the  coulee  with  nobody 
there  but  your  wife.  Why,  I  run  onto  her  half-way  up  the 
bluff,  packing  a  wet  sack,  to  fight  it  at  the  fire  guards! 
Now,  Man,  it  ain't  any  credit  to  you  that  the  worst  did  n't 
happen.  I  'd  sure  like  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  a  fellow 
that  will  leave  a  woman  out  there,  twenty  miles  from  town 
and  ten  from  the  nearest  neighbor  —  and  them  not  at 
home  —  to  take  a  chance  on  a  thing  like  that;  but  I 
can't.    I  never  learned  words  enough. 

"There  's  another  thing.  Old  lady  Hawley  took  more 
interest  in  her  than  you  did;  she  drove  out  there  to  see 
how  about  it,  as  soon  as  the  fire  had  burned  on  past  and 
left  the  trail  safe.  And  it  did  n't  look  good  to  her  —  that 
little  woman  stuck  out  there  all  by  herself.  She  made 
her  pack  up  some  clothes,  and  brought  her  to  town  with 
her.  She  didn't  want  to  come;  she  had  an  idea  that 
she  ought  to  stay  with  it  till  you  showed  up.  But  the 
only  original  Hawley  is  sure  all  right!    She  talked  your 


166  LONESOME    LAND 

wife  plumb  outa  the  house  and  into  the  rig,  and  brought 
her  to  town.    She  's  over  to  the  hotel  now." 

"Val  at  the  hotel?  How  long  has  she  been  there?" 
Manley  began  smoothing  his  hair  and  his  crumpled  clothes 
with  his  hands.  "  Good  heavens  I  You  told  her  I  'd 
gone  on  out,  and  had  missed  her  on  the  trail,  did  n't  you, 
Kent?  She  does  n't  know  I  'm  in  town,  does  she?  You 
always  were  a  good  fellow  —  I  haven't  forgotten  how 

you-" 

"Well,  you  can  forget  it  now.  I  didn't  tell  her  any- 
thing like  that.  I  did  n't  think  of  it,  for  one  thing.  She 
knew  all  the  time  that  you  were  in  town.  I  'm  tired  of 
lying  to  her.  I  told  her  the  truth.  I  told  her  you  were 
drunk." 

Manley 's  jaw  dropped.     "You  —  you  told  her — " 

"Ex-actly.  I  told  her  you  were  drunk."  Kent  nodded 
gravely,  and  his  lips  curled  as  he  watched  the  other  cringe. 
"She  called  me  a  liar,"  he  added,  with  a  certain  reminis- 
cent amusement. 

Manley  brightened.  "That 's  Val  —  once  she  believes 
in  a  person  she  's  loyal  as  — " 

"She  ain't  now,"  Kent  interposed  dryly.  "When  I 
let  up  she  was  plumb  convinced.  She  knows  now  what 
ailed  you  the  day  she  came  and  you  did  n't  meet  her." 

"You  dirty  curl  And  I  thought  you  were  a  friend. 
You—" 


A    LESSON    IN    FORGIVENESS    167 

"You  thought  right  —  until  you  got  to  rooting  a  little 
too  deep  in  the  mud,  old-timer.  And  let  me  tell  you 
something.  I  was  your  friend  when  I  told  her.  She  's 
got  to  know  —  you  could  n't  go  on  like  this  much  longer 
without  having  her  get  wise;  she  ain't  a  fool.  The  thing 
for  you  to  do  now  is  to  buck  up  and  let  her  reform  you. 
I  Ve  always  heard  that  women  are  tickled  plumb  to  death 
when  they  can  reform  a  man.  You  go  on  over  there  and 
make  your  little  talk,  and  then  buckle  down  and  live  up 
to  it.  Savvy?  That 's  your  only  chance  now.  It  '11 
work,  too. 

"You  ought  to  straighten  up,  Man,  and  act  white! 
Not  just  to  square  yourself  with  her,  but  because  you  're 
going  downhill  pretty  fast,  if  you  only  knew  it.  You  ain't 
anything  like  you  were  two  years  ago,  when  we  bached 
together.  You  've  got  to  brace  up  pretty  sudden,  or 
you  '11  be  so  far  gone  you  can't  climb  back.  And  when 
a  man  has  got  a  wife  to  look  after,  it  seems  to  me  he  ought 
to  be  the  best  it 's  in  him  to  be.  You  were  a  fine  fellow 
when  you  first  hit  the  country  —  and  she  thought  she 
was  getting  that  same  fine  fellow  when  she  came  away 
out  here  to  marry  you.  It  ain't  any  of  my  business  — 
but  do  you  think  you  're  giving  her  a  square  deal?"  He 
waited  a  minute,  and  spoke  the  next  sentence  with  a  cer- 
tain diffidence.  "  I  '11  gamble  you  have  n't  been  disap- 
pointed in  her" 


168  LONESOME    LAND 

"She's  an  angel  —  and  I 'm  a  beast!"  groaned  Man- 
ley,  with  the  exaggerated  self-abasement  which  so  fre- 
quently follows  close  upon  the  heels  of  intoxication. 
"She  '11  never  forgive  a  thing  like  that  —  the  best  thing 
I  can  do  is  to  blow  my  brains  out!" 

"Like  Walt.  And  have  your  picture  enlarged  and 
put  in  a  gold  frame,  and  hubby  number  two  learning  his 
morals  from  your  awful  example,"  elaborated  Kent,  in 
much  the  same  tone  he  had  employed  when  Val,  only 
the  day  before,  had  rashly  expressed  a  wish  for  a  speedy 
death. 

Manley  sat  up  straighter,  and  sent  a  look  of  resentment 
toward  the  man  who  bantered  when  he  should  have 
sympathized.  "It 's  all  a  big  joke  with  you,  of  course," 
he  flared  weakly.  "You're  not  married  —  to  a  perfect 
woman;  a  woman  who  never  did  anything  wrong  in  her 
life,  and  can't  understand  how  anybody  should  want  to, 
and  can't  forgive  him  when  he  does.  She  expects  a  man 
to  be  a  saint.  Why,  I  don't  even  smoke  in  the  house  — 
and  she  does  n't  dream  I  'd  ever  swear,  under  any  cir- 
cimistances. 

"Why,  Kent,  a  fellow's  got  to  go  to  town  and  turn 
himself  loose  sometimes,  when  he  lives  in  a  rarified 
atmosphere  of  refined  morality,  and  listens  to  Songs 
Without  Words  and  weepy  classics  on  the  violin,  and 
never  a  thing  to  make  your  feet  tingle.     She  does  n't 


A    LESSON    IN    FORGIVENESS    169 

believe  in  public  dances,  either.  Nor  cards.  She  reads 
'  The  Ring  and  the  Book '  evenings,  and  wants  to  discuss 
it  and  read  passages  of  it  to  me.  I  used  to  take  some 
interest  in  those  things,  and  she  does  n't  seem  to  see  I  've 
changed.  Why,  hang  it,  Kent,  Cold  Spring  Coulee 's 
no  place  for  Browning  —  he  does  n't  fit  in.  All  that  sort 
of  thing  is  a  thousand  miles  behind  me  —  and  I  Ve  got 
to — "  He  stopped  short  and  brooded,  his  eyes  upon 
the  dank  sawdust  at  his  feet. 

"  I  'm  a  beast,"  he  repeated  rather  lugubriously.  "  She  's 
an  angel  —  an  Eastern-bred  angel.  And  let  me  tell  you, 
Kent,  all  that 's  pretty  hard  to  live  up  to!" 

Kent  looked  down  at  him  meditatively,  wondering  if 
there  was  not  a  good  deal  of  truth  and  justice  in  Manley's 
argument.  But  his  sympathies  had  already  gone  to  the 
other  side,  and  Kent  was  not  the  man  to  make  an  emotional 
pendulum  of  himself. 

"Well,  what  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  he  asked,  after 
a  short  silence. 

For  answer  Manley  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  certain  air 
of  determination,  which  flamed  up  oddly  above  his  general 
weakness,  like  the  last  sputter  of  a  candle  burned  down. 
"  I  'm  going  over  and  take  my  medicine  —  face  the  music," 
he  said  almost  sullenly.  "  She 's  too  good  forme  —  I 
always  knew  it.  And  I  have  n't  treated  her  right  —  I  've 
left  her  out  there  alone  too  much.     But  she  would  n't 


170  LONESOME    LAND 

come  to  town  with  me  —  she  said  she  could  n't  endm-e 
the  sight  of  it.  What  could  I  do?  I  could  n't  stay  out 
there  all  the  time;  there  were  times  when  I  had  to  come. 
She  did  n't  seem  to  mind  staying  alone.  She  never  ob- 
jected. She  was  always  sweet  and  good-natured  —  and 
shut  up  inside  of  herself.  She  just  gives  you  what  she 
pleases  of  her  mind,  and  the  rest  she  hides  — " 

Kent  laughed  suddenly.  "You  married  men  sure  do 
have  all  kinds  of  trouble,"  he  remarked.  "A  fellow  like 
me  can  go  on  a  jamboree  any  time  he  likes,  and  as  long 
as  he  likes,  and  it  don't  concern  anybody  but  himself  — 
and  maybe  the  man  he 's  working  for;  and  look  at 
you,  scared  plumb  silly  thinking  of  what  your  wife  's 
going  to  say  about  it.  If  you  ask  me,  I  'm  going  to 
trot  alone;  I  'd  rather  be  lonesome  than  good,  any  old 
time." 

That,  however,  did  not  tend  to  raise  Manley's  spirits 
any.  He  entered  the  hotel  with  visible  reluctance,  looked 
into  the  parlor,  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  saw 
that  it  was  empty,  wavered  at  the  foot  of  the  steep,  narrow 
stairs,  and  retreated  to  the  dining  room,  with  Kent  at  his 
heels  knowing  that  the  matter  had  passed  quite  beyond 
his  help  or  hindrance  and  had  entered  that  mysterious 
realm  of  matrimony  where  no  unwedded  man  or  woman 
may  follow  and  yet  is  curious  enough  to  linger. 

Just  inside  the  door  Manley  stopped  so  suddenly  tiiat 


A    LESSON    IN    FORGIVENESS    171 

Kent  bumped  against  him.  Val,  sweet  and  calm  and 
cool,  was  sitting  just  where  the  smoke-dimmed  sunlight 
poured  in  through  a  window  upon  her,  and  a  breeze  came 
with  it  and  stirred  her  hair.  She  had  those  purple  shadows 
under  her  eyes  which  betray  us  after  long,  sleepless  hours 
when  we  live  with  our  troubles  and  the  world  dreams 
around  us;  she  had  no  color  at  all  in  her  cheeks,  and  she 
had  that  aloofness  of  manner  which  Manley,  in  his  out- 
burst, had  described  as  being  shut  up  inside  herself.  She 
glanced  up  at  them,  just  as  she  would  have  done  had  they 
both  been  strangers,  and  went  on  sugaring  her  coffee 
with  a  dainty  exactness  which,  under  the  circumstances, 
seemed  altogether  too  elaborate  to  be  unconscious. 

"Good  morning,"  she  greeted  them  quietly.  "I  think 
we  must  be  the  laziest  people  in  town;  at  any  rate,  we 
seem  to  be  the  latest  risers." 

Kent  stared  at  her  frankly,  so  that  she  flushed  a  little 
under  the  scrutiny.  Manley  consciously  avoided  looking 
at  her,  and  muttered  something  unintelligible  while  he 
pulled  out  a  chair  three  places  distant  from  her. 

Val  stole  a  sidelong,  measuring  look  at  her  husband 
while  she  took  a  sip  of  coffee,  and  then  her  eyes  turned 
upon  Kent.  More  than  ever,  it  seemed  to  him,  they  resem- 
bled the  eyes  of  a  lioness  watching  you  quietly  from  the 
corner  of  her  cage.  You  could  look  at  them,  but  you 
could  not  look  into  them.    Always  they  met  your  gaze 


172  LONESOME    LAND 

with  a  baffling  veil  of  inscrutability.  But  they  were 
darker  than  the  eyes  of  a  lioness;  they  were  human  eyes; 
woman  eyes  —  alluring  eyes.  She  did  not  say  a  word, 
and,  after  a  brief  stare  which  might  have  meant  almost 
anything,  she  turned  to  her  plate  of  toast  and  broke  away 
the  burned  edges  of  a  slice  and  nibbled  at  the  passable 
center  as  if  she  had  no  trouble  beyond  a  rather  unsatis- 
factory breakfast. 

It  was  foolish,  it  was  childish  for  three  people  who 
knew  one  another  very  well,  to  sit  and  pretend  to  eat,  and 
to  speak  no  word;  so  Kent  thought,  and  tried  to  break 
the  silence  with  some  remark  which  would  not  sound 
constrained. 

*'It's  going  to  storm,"  he  flung  into  the  silence,  like 
chucking  a  rock  into  a  pond. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  Val  asked  languidly,  just  grazing 
him  with  a  glance,  in  that  inattentive  way  she  sometimes 
had.  "  Are  you  going  out  home  —  or  to  what 's  left  of 
it  —  to-day,  Manley  ? "  She  did  not  look  at  him  at  all, 
Kent  observed. 

"I  don't  know  —  I  '11  have  to  hire  a  team  —  I  'U  see 
what—" 

"Mrs.  Hawley  thinks  we  ought  to  stay  here  for  a  few 
days  —  or  that  I  ought  —  while  you  make  arrangements 
for  building  a  new  stable,  and  all  that." 

"If  you  want  to  stay,"  Manley  agreed  rather  eagerly. 


A    LESSON    IN    FORGIVENESS    173 

"why,  of  course,  you  can.  There's  nothing  out  there 
to—" 

"  Oh,  it  does  n't  matter  in  the  slightest  degree  where 
I  stay.  I  only  mentioned  it  because  I  promised  her  I 
would  speak  to  you  about  it."  There  was  more  than 
languor  in  her  tone. 

"They're  going  to  start  the  fireworks  pretty  quick," 
Kent  mentally  diagnosed  the  situation  and  rose  hurriedly. 
"  Well,  I ' ve  got  to  hunt  a  horse,  myself,  and  pull  out 
for  the  Wishbone,"  he  explained  gratuitously.  "Ought 
to  've  gone  last  night.  Good-bye."  He  closed  the  door 
behind  him  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Now  they 
can  fight  it  out,"  he  told  himself.  "Glad  I  ain't  a  mar- 
ried man!" 

However,  they  did  not  fight  it  out  then.  Kent  had 
no  more  than  reached  the  office  when  Val  rose,  hoped 
that  Manley  would  please  excuse  her,  and  left  the  room 
also.  Manley  heard  her  go  up-stairs,  found  out  from 
Arline  what  was  the  number  of  Val 's  room,  and  followed 
her.  The  door  was  locked,  but  when  he  rapped  upon  it 
Val  opened  it  an  inch  and  held  it  so. 

"Val,  let  me  in.  I  want  to  talk  with  you.  I  —  God 
knows  how  sorry  I  am  — " 

"If  He  does,  that  ought  to  be  sufficient,"  she  answered 
coldly.  "  I  don't  feel  like  talking  now  —  especially  upon 
the  subject  you  would  choose.    You  're  a  man,  supposedly. 


174  LONESOME    LAND 

You  must  know  what  it  is  your  duty  to  do.  Please  let 
us  not  discuss  it  —  now  or  ever." 

"But,Val— " 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it,  I  tell  you!  I  won't  — 
I  can't.  You  must  do  without  the  conventional  confes- 
sion and  absolution.  You  must  have  some  sort  of  con- 
science —  let  that  receive  your  penitence."  She  started 
to  close  the  door,  but  he  caught  it  with  his  hand. 

"Val  — do  you  hate  me?" 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  as  if  she  were  trying 
to  decide.  "No,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  don't  think  I  do; 
I  'm  quite  sure  that  I  do  not.  But  I  'm  terribly  hurt  and 
disappointed."  She  closed  the  door  then  and  turned 
the  key. 

Manley  stood  for  a  moment  rather  blankly  before  it, 
then  put  his  hands  as  deep  in  his  pockets  as  they  would 
go,  and  went  slowly  down  the  stairs.  At  that  moment 
he  did  not  feel  particularly  penitent.  She  would  not 
listen  to  "the  conventional  confession!" 

"That  girl  can  be  hard  as  nails!"  he  muttered,  under 
his  breath. 

He  went  into  the  office,  got  a  cigar,  and  lighted  it  moodily. 
He  glanced  at  the  bottles  ranged  upon  the  shelves  behind 
the  bar,  drew  in  his  breath  for  speech,  let  it  go  in  a  sigh, 
and  walked  out.  He  knew  perfectly  well  what  Val  had 
meant.    She  had  deliberately  thrown  him  back  upon  his 


A    LESSON    IN    FORGIVENESS    175 

own  strength.  He  had  fallen  by  himself,  he  must  pick 
himself  up;  and  she  would  stand  back  and  watch  the 
struggle,  and  judge  him  according  to  his  failure  or  his 
success.  He  had  a  dim  sense  that  it  was  a  dangerous 
experiment. 

He  looked  for  Kent,  found  him  just  as  he  was  mounting 
at  the  stables,  and  let  him  go  almost  without  a  word. 
After  all,  no  one  could  help  him.  He  stood  there  smoking 
after  Kent  had  gone,  and  when  his  cigar  was  finished 
he  wandered  back  to  the  hotel.  As  was  always  the  case 
after  hard  drinking,  he  had  a  splitting  headache.  He  got 
a  room  as  close  to  VaFs  as  he  could,  shut  himself  into  it, 
and  gave  himself  up  to  his  headache  and  to  gloomy  medi- 
tation. All  day  he  lay  upon  the  bed,  and  part  of  the 
time  he  slept.  At  supper  time  he  rapped  upon  Val's 
door,  got  no  answer,  and  went  down  alone,  to  find  her  in 
the  dining  room.  There  was  an  empty  chair  beside  her, 
and  he  took  it  as  his  right.  She  talked  a  little  — about  the 
fire  and  the  damage  it  had  done.  She  said  she  was  wor- 
ried because  she  had  forgotten  to  bring  the  cat,  and  what 
would  it  find  to  eat  out  there? 

"Everything  's  burned  perfectly  black  for  miles  and 
miles,  you  know,"  she  reminded  him. 

They  left  the  room  together,  and  he  followed  her  up- 
stairs and  to  her  door.  This  time  she  did  not  shut  him 
out,  and  he  went  in  and  sat  down  by  the  window,  and 


176  LONESOME    LAND 

looked  out  upon  the  meager  little  street.  Never,  in  the 
years  he  had  known  her,  had  she  been  so  far  from  him. 
He  watched  her  covertly  while  she  searched  for  some- 
thing in  her  suit  case. 

"I  'm  afraid  I  did  n't  bring  enough  clothes  to  last  more 
than  a  day  or  two,"  she  remarked.  "I  could  n't  seem  to 
think  of  anything  that  night.  Arline  did  most  of  the 
packing  for  me.  I  'm  afraid  I  misjudged  that  woman, 
Manley;  there  's  a  good  deal  to  her,  after  all.  But  she 
is  funny." 

"  Val,  I  want  to  tell  you  I  'm  going  to  —  to  be  different. 
I  've  been  a  beast,  but  I  'm  going  to — "  So  much  he 
had  rushed  out  before  she  could  freeze  him  to  silence 
again. 

"I  hope  so,"  she  cut  in,  as  he  hesitated.  "That  is 
something  you  must  judge  for  yourself,  and  do  by  your- 
self. Do  you  think  you  will  be  able  to  get  a  team  to- 
morrow?" 

"Oh  —  to  hell  with  a  team!"  Manley  exploded. 

Val  dropped  her  hairbrush  upon  the  floor.  "Manley 
Fleetwood!  Has  it  come  to  that,  also?  Isn't  it  enough 
to  — "  She  choked.  "  Manley,  you  can  be  a  —  a  drunken 
sot,  if  you  choose  —  I  've  no  power  to  prevent  you;  but 
you  shall  not  swear  in  my  presence.  I  thought  you  had 
some  of  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman,  but  —  "  She  set 
her  teeth  hard  together.    She  was  white  around  the  mouth, 


A    LESSON    IN    FORGIVENESS    177 

and  her  whole,  slim  body  was  aquiver  with  outraged 
dignity. 

There  was  something  queer  in  Manley's  eyes  as  he 
looked  at  her,  the  length  of  the  tiny  room  between  them. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  remember,  now,  your  Fern 
Hill  ethics.  I  may  go  to  hell,  for  all  of  you  —  you  will 
simply  hold  back  your  immaculate,  moral  skirts  so  that 
I  may  pass  without  smirching  them;  but  I  must  not 
mention  my  destination  —  that  is  so  unrefined!"  He 
got  up  from  the  chair,  with  a  laugh  that  was  almost  a 
snort.  "You  refuse  to  discuss  a  certain  subject,  though 
it 's  almost  a  matter  of  life  and  death  with  me;  at  least, 
it  was.  Your  happiness  and  my  own  was  at  stake,  I 
thought.  But  it 's  all  right  —  I  need  n*t  have  worried 
about  it.  I  still  have  some  of  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman, 
and  your  pure  ears  shall  not  be  offended  by  any  profanity 
or  any  disagreeable  ^conventional  confessions.'  The 
absolution,  let  me  say,  I  expected  to  do  without."  He 
started,  full  of  some  secret  intent,  for  the  door. 

Val  humanized  suddenly.  By  the  time  his  fingers 
touched  the  door  knob  she  had  read  his  purpose,  had 
reached  his  side,  and  was  clutching  his  arm  with  both 
her  hands. 

"Manley  Fleetwood,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  She 
was  actually  panting  with  the  jump  of  her  heart. 

He  turned  the  knob,  so  that  the  latch  clicked.    "Get 


178  LONESOME    LAND 

drunk.  Be  the  drunken  sot  you  expect  me  to  be.  Go 
to  that  vulgar  place  which  I  must  not  mention  in  your 
presence.    Let  go  my  arm,  Val." 

She  was  all  woman,  then.  She  pulled  him  away  from 
the  door  and  the  unnamed  horror  which  lay  outside.  She 
was  not  the  crying  sort,  but  she  cried,  just  the  same  — 
heartbrokenly,  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  as  if  she 
herself  were  the  sinner.  She  clung  to  him,  she  begged 
him  to  forgive  her  hardness. 

'  She  learned  something  which  every  woman  must  learn 
if  she  would  keep  a  little  happiness  in  her  life:  she  learned 
how  to  forgive  the  man  she  loved,  and  to  trust  him  after- 
ward. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

» 

ARLINE  GIVES  A  DANCE 

A  HOUSE,  it  would  seem,  is  almost  the  least  im- 
portant part  of  a  ranch;  one  can  camp,  with  frying 
pan  and  blankets,  in  the  shade  of  a  bush  or  the  shelter  of 
canvas.  But  to  do  anything  upon  a  ranch,  one  must  have 
many  things  —  burnable  things,  for  the  most  part,  as 
Manley  was  to  learn  by  experience  when  he  left  Val  at 
the  hotel  and  rode  out,  the  next  day,  to  Cold  Spring 
Coulee. 

To  ride  over  twenty  miles  of  blackness  is  depressing 
enough  in  itself,  but  to  find,  at  the  end  of  the  journey, 
that  one's  work  has  all  gone  for  nothing,  and  one's  money 
and  one's  plans  and  hopes,  is  worse  than  depressing. 
Manley  sat  upon  his  horse  and  gazed  rather  blankly  at 
the  heap  of  black  cinders  that  had  been  his  haystacks, 
and  at  the  cold  embers  where  had  stood  his  stables,  and 
at  the  warped  bits  of  iron  that  had  been  his  buckboard, 
his  wagon,  his  rake  and  mower  —  all  the  things  he  had 
gathered  around  him  in  the  three  years  he  had  spent  upon 
the  place. 

The  house  merely  emphasized  his  loss.    He  got  down 


180  LONESOME    LAND 

and  picked  up  the  cat,  which  was  mewing  plaintively 
beside  his  horse,  snuggled  it  into  his  arm,  and  remounted. 
Val  had  told  him  to  be  sure  and  find  the  cat,  and  bring 
it  back  with  him.  His  horses  and  his  cattle  —  not  many, 
to  be  sure,  in  that  land  of  large  holdings  —  were  scattered, 
and  it  would  take  the  round-up  to  gather  them  together 
again.  So  the  cat,  and  the  horse  he  rode,  the  bleak  coulee, 
and  the  unattractive  little  house  with  its  three  rooms 
and  its  meager  porch,  were  all  that  he  could  visualize  as 
his  worldly  possessions.  And  when  he  thought  of  his 
bank  account  he  winced  mentally.  Before  snow  fell  he 
would  be  debt-ridden,  the  best  he  could  do.  For  he  must 
have  a  stable,  and  corral,  and  hay,  and  a  wagon,  and  — 
he  refused  to  remind  himself  of  all  the  things  he  must 
have  if  he  would  stay  on  the  ranch. 

His  was  not  a  strong  nature  at  best,  and  now  he  shrank 
from  facing  his  misfortune  and  wanted  only  to  get  away 
from  the  place.  He  loped  his  horse  half-way  up  the  hill, 
which  was  not  merciful  riding.  The  half-starved  cat 
yowled  in  his  arms,  and  struck  her  claws  through  his 
coat  till  he  felt  the  prick  of  them,  and  he  swore;  at  the 
cat,  nominally,  but  really  at  the  trick  fate  had  played 
upon  him. 

For  a  week  he  dallied  in  town,  without  heart  or  courage, 
though  Val  urged  him  to  buy  lumber  and  build,  and 
cheered  him  as  best  she  could.      He  did  make  a  half- 


ARLINE    GIVES    A    DANCE      181 

hearted  attempt  to  get  lumber  to  the  place,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  no  team  in  town  which  he  could  hire.  Every- 
one was  busy,  and  put  him  off.  He  tried  to  buy  hay  of 
Blumenthall,  of  the  Wishbone,  of  every  man  he  met  who 
had  hay.  No  one  had  any  hay  to  sell,  however.  Blumen- 
thall complained  that  he  was  short,  himself,  and  would 
buy  if  he  could,  rather  than  sell.  The  Wishbone  foreman 
declared  profanely  that  hay  was  going  to  be  worth  a 
dollar  a  pound  to  them,  before  spring.  They  were  all 
sorry  for  Manley,  and  told  him  he  was  "sure  playing 
tough  luck,"  but  they  couldn't  sell  any  hay,  that  was 
certain. 

"But  we  must  manage  somehow  to  fix  the  place  so  we 
can  live  on  it  this  winter,"  Val  would  insist,  when  he  told 
her  how  every  move  seemed  blocked.  "You  're  very 
brave,  dear,  and  I  'm  proud  of  the  way  you  are  holding 
out  —  but  Hope  is  not  a  good  place  for  you.  It  would 
be  foolish  to  stay  in  town.  Can't  you  buy  enough  hay 
here  in  town  —  baled  hay  from  the  store  —  to  keep  our 
horses  through  the  winter?" 

"Well,  I  tried,"  Manley  responded  gloomily.  "But 
Brinberg  is  nearly  out.  He  's  expecting  a  carload  in,  but 
it  has  n't  come  yet.  He  said  he  'd  let  me  know  when  it 
gets  here." 

Meanwhile  the  days  slipped  away,  and  imperceptibly 
the  heat  and  haze  of  the  fires  gave  place  to  bright  sun- 


182  LONESOME    LAND 

light  and  chill  winds,  and  then  to  the  chill  winds  without 
the  sunshine.  One  morning  the  ground  was  frozen  hard, 
and  all  the  roofs  gleamed  white  with  the  heavy  frost. 
Arline  bestirred  herself,  and  had  a  heating  stove  set  up 
in  the  parlor,  and  Val  went  down  to  the  dry  heat  and 
the  peculiar  odor  of  a  rusted  stove  in  the  flush  of  its  first 
fire  since  spring. 

The  next  day,  as  she  sat  by  her  window  up-stairs,  she 
looked  out  at  the  first  nip  of  winter.  A  few  great  snow- 
flakes  drifted  down  from  the  slaty  sky;  a  puff  of  wind 
sent  them  dancing  down  the  street,  shook  more  down, 
and  whirled  them  giddily.  Then  the  storm  came  and 
swept  through  the  little  street  and  whined  lonesomely 
around  the  hotel. 

Over  at  the  saloon  —  "  Pop's  Place,"  it  proclaimed  itself 
in  washed-out  lettering  —  three  tied  horses  circled  un- 
easily until  they  were  standing  back  to  the  storm,  their 
bodies  hunched  together  with  the  chill  of  it,  their  tails 
whipping  between  their  legs.  They  accentuated  the 
blank  dreariness  of  the  empty  street.  The  snow  was 
whitening  their  rumps  and  clinging,  in  tiny  drifts,  upon 
the  saddle  skirts  behind  the  cantles. 

All  the  little  hollows  of  the  rough,  frozen  ground  were 
filling  slowly,  making  white  patches  against  the  brown 
of  the  earth  —  patches  which  widened  and  widened  until 
they  met,  and  the  whole  street  was  blanketed  with  fresh. 


ARLINE    GIVES    A    DANCE      183 

untrodden  snow.  Val  shivered  suddenly,  and  hurried 
down-stairs  where  the  air  was  warm  and  all  a-steam  with 
cooking,  and  the  odor  of  frying  onions  smote  the  nostrils 
like  a  blow  in  the  face. 

"I  suppose  we  must  stay  here,  now,  till  the  storm  is 
over,"  she  sighed,  when  she  met  Manley  at  dinner.  "But 
as  soon  as  it  clears  we  must  go  back  to  the  ranch.  I 
simply  cannot  endure  another  week  of  it." 

"You're  gitting  uneasy  —  I  seen  that,  two  or  three 
days  ago,"  said  Arline,  who  had  come  into  the  dining 
room  with  a  tray  of  meat  and  vegetables,  and  overheard 
her.  "You  want  to  stay,  now,  till  after  the  dance. 
There 's  going  to  be  a  dance  Friday  night,  you  know 
—  everybody  's  coming.    You  got  to  wait  for  that." 

"I  don't  attend  public  dances,"  Val  stated  calmly.  "I 
am  going  home  as  soon  as  the  storm  clears  —  if  Manley 
can  buy  a  little  hay,  and  find  our  horses,  and  get  some 
sort  of  a  driving  vehicle." 

"Well,  if  he  can't,  maybe  he  can  round  up  a  ridin' 
vee-hicle,"  Arline  remarked  dryly,  placing  the  meat  before 
Manley,  the  potatoes  before  Val,  and  the  gravy  exactly 
between  the  two,  with  mathematical  precision.  "I'm 
givin'  that  dance  myself.  You  '11  have  to  go  —  I  'm 
givin'  it  in  your  honor." 

" In  —  my  —  why,  the  idea!  It 's  good  of  you,  but  —  " 

"And  you  're  goin',  and  you  're  goin'  to  take  your 


184  LONESOME    LAND 

vi'lin  over  and  play  us  some  pieces.  I  tucked  it  into  the 
rig  and  brought  it  in,  on  purpose.  I  planned  out  the  hull 
thing,  driving  out  to  your  place.  In  case  you  was  n't  all 
burned  up,  I  made  up  my  mind  I  was  going  to  give  you  a 
dance,  and  git  you  acquainted  with  folks.  You  need  n't  to 
hang  back  —  I  Ve  told  everybody  it  was  in  your  honor, 
and  that  you  played  the  vi'lin  swell,  and  we  'd  have  some 
real  music.  And  I  Ve  sent  to  Chinook  for  the  dance 
music  —  harp,  two  fiddles,  and  a  coronet  —  and  you  ain't 
going  to  stall  the  hull  thing  now.  I  did  n't  mean  to  tell 
you  till  the  last  minute,  but  you  've  got  to  have  time  to 
make  up  your  mind  you  '11  go  to  a  public  dance  for  oncet 
in  your  life.  It  ain't  going  to  hurt  you  none.  I  've  went, 
ever  sence  I  was  big  enough  to  reach  up  and  grab  holt  of 
my  pardner  —  and  I  'm  every  bit  as  virtuous  as  you  be. 
You  're  going,  and  you  'n  Man  are  going  to  head  the 
grand  march." 

Val's  face  was  flushed,  her  lips  pursed,  and  her  eyes 
wide.  Plainly  she  was  not  quite  sure  whether  she  was 
angry,  amused,  or  insulted.  She  descended  straight  to  a 
purely  feminine  objection. 

"But  I  have  n't  a  thing  to  wear,  and  —  " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have.    While  you  was  dillydallying  out 

in  the  front  room,  that  night,  wondering  whether  you  'd 

have  hysterics,  or  faint,  or  what  all,  I  dug  deep  in  that 

biggest  trunk  of  yourn,  and  fished  up  one  of  your  party 


ARLINE    GIVES    A    DANCE      185 

dresses  —  white  satin,  it  is,  with  embroidVy  all  up  'n' 
down  the  front,  and  slimpsy  lace;  it 's  kinda  low-'n'- 
behold  —  one  of  them  —  " 

"My  white  satin  —  why,  Mrs.  Hawley!  That  —  you 
must  have  brought  the  gown  I  wore  to  my  farewell  club 
reception.    It  has  a  train,  and  —  why,  the  idea!'' 

"You  can  cut  off  the  trail  —  you  got  plenty  of  time  — 
or  you  can  pin  it  up.  I  did  n't  have  time  that  night  to 
see  how  the  thing  was  made,  and  I  took  it  because  I  found 
white  skirts  and  stockings,  and  white  satin  slippers  to  go 
with  it,  right  handy.  You  *re  a  bride,  and  white  '11  be 
suitable,  and  the  dance  is  in  your  honor.  Wear  it  just  as 
it  is,  fer  all  me.  Show  the  folks  what  real  clothes  look 
like.  I  never  seen  a  woman  dressed  up  that  way  in  my 
hull  life.  You  wear  it,  Val,  trail  'n'  all.  I  '11  back  you  up 
in  it,  and  tell  folks  it 's  my  idee,  and  not  yourn." 

"I  'm  not  in  the  habit  of  apologizing  to  people  for  the 
clothes  I  wear."  Val  lifted  her  chin  haughtily.  "I  am 
not  at  all  sure  that  I  shall  go.     In  fact,  I  —  " 

"Oh,  you'll  go!"  Arline  rested  her  arms  upon  her 
bony  hips  and  snapped  her  meager  jaws  together.  "  You  '11 
go,  if  I  have  to  carry  you  over.  I  've  sent  for  fifteen  yards 
of  buntin'  to  decorate  the  hall  with.  I  ain't  going  to  all 
that  trouble  for  nothing,  I  ain't  giving  a  dance  in  honor 
of  a  certain  person,  and  then  let  that  person  stay  away. 
You  —  why,  you  'd  queer  yourself  with  the  hull  country, 


186  LONESOME    LAND 

Val  Fleetwood !  You  ain't  got  the  least  sign  of  an  excuse. 
You  got  the  clothes,  and  you  ain't  sick.  There  's  a  reason 
why  you  got  to  show  up.  I  ain't  going  into  no  details  at 
present,  but  under  the  circumstances,  it 's  advisable." 
She  smelled  something  burning  then,  and  bolted  for  the 
kitchen,  where  her  sharp,  rather  nasal  voice  was  heard 
upbraiding  Minnie  for  some  neglect. 

Polycarp  Jenks  came  in,  eyed  Val  and  Manley  from 
under  one  lifted  eyebrow,  smiled  skinnily,  and  pulled  out 
a  chair  with  a  rasping  noise,  and  sat  down  facing  them. 
Instinctively  Val  refrained  from  speaking  her  mind  about 
Arline  and  her  dance  before  Polycarp,  but  afterward,  in 
their  own  room,  she  grew  rather  eloquent  upon  the  sub- 
ject. She  would  not  go.  She  would  not  permit  that 
woman  to  browbeat  her  into  doing  what  she  did  not  want 
to  do,  she  said.  In  her  honor,  indeed!  The  impertinence 
of  going  to  the  bottom  of  her  trunk,  and  meddling  with 
her  clothes  —  with  that  reception  gown,  of  all  others ! 
The  idea  of  wearing  that  gown  to  a  frontier  dance  —  even 
if  she  consented  to  go  to  such  a  dance!  And  expect- 
ing her  to  amuse  the  company  by  playing  "pieces"  on  the 
violin ! 

"Well,  why  not?"  Manley  was  sitting  rather  apatheti- 
cally upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  his  arms  resting  upon  his 
knees,  his  eyes  moodily  studying  the  intricate  rose  pattern 
in  the  faded  Brussels  carpet.    They  were  the  first  words 


ARLINE    GIVES    A    DANCE      187 

he  had  spoken;  one  might  easily  have  doubted  whether 
he  had  heard  all  Val  said. 

"Why  not?  Manley  Fleetwood,  do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  —  '' 

"Why  not  go,  and  get  acquainted,  and  quit  feeling 
that  you  're  a  pearl  cast  among  swine?  It  strikes  me  the 
Hawley  person  is  pretty  level-headed  on  the  subject.  If 
you  're  going  to  live  in  this  country,  why  not  quit  think- 
ing how  out  of  place  you  are,  and  how  superior,  and  meet 
us  all  on  a  level?  It  won't  hurt  you  to  go  to  that  dance, 
and  it  won't  hurt  you  to  play  for  them,  if  they  want  you 
to.  You  can  play,  you  know;  you  used  to  play  at  all  the 
musical  doings  in  Fern  Hill,  and  even  in  the  city  sometimes. 
And,  let  me  tell  you,  Val,  we  are  n't  quite  savages,  out 
here.  I  've  even  suspected,  sometimes,  that  we  're  just  as 
good  as  Fern  Hill." 

"We?"  Val  looked  at  him  steadily.  "So  you  wish  to 
identify  yourself  with  these  people  —  with  Polycarp 
Jenks,  and  Arline  Hawley,  and  —  " 

"Why  not?  They  're  shaky  on  grammar,  and  their 
manners  could  stand  a  little  polish,  but  aside  from  that 
they're  exactly  like  the  people  you've  lived  among  all  your 
life.  Sure,  I  wish  to  identify  myself  with  them.  I  'm 
just  a  rancher  —  pretty  small  punkins,  too,  among  all 
these  big  outfits,  and  you  're  a  rancher's  wife.  The  Haw- 
ley person  could  buy  us  out  for  cash  to-morrow,  if  she 


188  LONESOME    LAND 

wanted  to,  and  never  miss  the  money.  And,  Val,  she  's 
givmg  that  dance  in  your  honor;  you  ought  to  appreciate 
that.  The  Hawley  does  n't  take  a  fancy  to  every  woman 
she  sees  —  and,  let  me  tell  you,  she  stands  ace-high  in 
this  country.  If  she  did  n't  like  you,  she  could  make  you 
wish  she  did." 

"Well,  upon  my  word!  I  begin  to  suspect  you  of  being 
a  humorist,  Manley.  And  even  if  you  mean  that  seriously 
—  why,  it 's  all  the  funnier."    To  prove  it,  she  laughed. 

Manley  hesitated,  then  left  the  room  with  a  snort,  a 
scowl,  and  a  slam  of  the  door;  and  the  sound  of  Val's 
laughter  followed  him  down  the  stairs. 

Arline  came  up,  her  arms  full  of  white  satin,  white  lace, 
white  cambric,  and  the  toes  of  two  white  satin  slippers 
showing  just  above  the  top  of  her  apron  pockets.  She 
walked  briskly  in  and  deposited  her  burden  upon  the 
bed. 

"My!  them  's  the  nicest  smellin'  things  I  ever  had  a 
hold  of,"  she  observed.  "And  still  they  don't  seem  to 
smell,  either.  Must  be  a  dandy  perfumery  you  've  got. 
I  brought  up  the  things,  seein'  you  know  they  're  here. 
I  thought  you  could  take  your  time  about  cuttin'  off  the 
trail  and  fillin'  in  the  neck  and  sleeves." 

She  sat  down  upon  the  foot  of  the  bed,  carefully  tucking 
her  gingham  apron  close  about  her  so  that  it  might  not 
come  in  contact  with  the  other. 


ARLINE    GIVES    A    DANCE      189 

"I  never  did  see  such  clothes,"  she  sighed.  "I  dunno 
how  you  '11  ever  git  a  chancet  to  wear  'em  out  in  this 
country  —  seems  to  me  they  're  most  too  pretty  to  wear, 
anyhow.  I  can  git  Marthy  Winters  to  come  over  and  help 
you  —  she  does  sewin'  —  and  you  can  use  my  machine  any 
time  you  want  to.  I  'd  take  a  hold  myself  if  I  did  n't  have 
all  the  baking  to  do  for  the  dance.  That  Min  can't  learn 
nothing,  seems  like.  I  can't  trust  her  to  do  a  thing, 
hardly,  unless  I  stand  right  over  her.  Breed  girls  ain't 
much  account  ever;  but  they  're  all  that  '11  work  out, 
in  this  country,  seems  like.  Sometimes  I  swear  I  '11  git 
a  Chink  and  be  done  with  it  —  only  I  got  to  have  some- 
body I  can  talk  to  oncet  in  a  while.  I  could  n't  never  talk 
to  a  Chink  —  they  don't  seem  hardly  human  to  me.  Do 
they  to  you? 

"And  say!  I  Ve  got  some  allover  lace  —  it 's  eecrue  — 
that  you  can  fill  in  the  neck  with;  you  're  welcome  to  use 
it  —  there  's  most  a  yard  of  it,  and  I  won't  never  find  a 
use  for  it.  Or  I  was  thinkin',  there  '11  be  enough  cut  off  'n 
the  trail  to  make  a  gamp  of  the  satin,  sleeves  and  all." 
She  lifted  the  shining  stuff  with  manifest  awe.  "It  does 
seem  a  shame  to  put  the  shears  to  it  —  but  you  never  '11 
git  any  wear  out  of  it  the  way  it  is,  and  I  don't  believe  —  " 

"Mis'  Hawley!"  shrilled  the  voice  of  Minnie  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  "There  's  a  couple  of  drummers  off  'n 
the  trairiy  'n'  they  want  supper,  'n'  what  '11 1  give  'em?" 


190  LONESOME    LAND 

"My  heavens!  That  girl  11  drive  me  crazy,  sure!" 
Arline  hurried  to  the  door.  "Don't  take  the  roof  off  'n 
the  house,"  she  cried  querulously  down  the  stairway. 
"I'm  comin'." 

Val  had  not  spoken  a  word.  She  went  over  to  the  bed, 
lifted  a  fold  of  satin,  and  smiled  down  at  it  ironically. 
"Mamma  and  I  spent  a  whole  month  planning  and  sew- 
ing and  gloating  over  you,"  she  said  aloud.  "You  were 
almost  as  important  as  a  wedding  gown;  the  club's  fare- 
well reception  —  'To  what  base  uses  we  do  —  '" 

"Oh,  here's  your  slippers!"  Arline  thrust  half  her 
body  into  the  room  and  held  the  slippers  out  to  Val. 
"I  stuck  'em  into  my  pockets  to  bring  up,  and  forgot  all 
about  'em,  mind  you,  till  I  was  handin'  the  drummers 
their  tea.  And  one  of  'em  happened  to  notice  'em,  and 
raised  right  up  outa  his  chair,  an'  said:  'Cind'n7Za,  sure 
as  I  live !  Say,  if  there  's  a  foot  in  this  town  that  '11  go 
into  them  slippers,  for  God's  sake  introduce  me  to  the 
owner ! '  I  told  him  to  mind  his  own  business.  Drummers 
do  get  awful  fresh  when  they  think  they  can  get  away 
with  it."    She  departed  in  a  hurry,  as  usual. 

Every  day  after  that  Arline  talked  about  altering  the 
satin  gown.  Every  day  Val  was  noncommittal  and  un- 
enthusiastic.  Occasionally  she  told  Arline  that  she  was 
not  going  to  the  dance,  but  Arline  declined  to  take  seriously 
so  preposterous  a  declaration. 


ARLINE    GIVES    A    DANCE      191 

"You  want  to  break  a  leg,  then,"  she  told  Val  grimly  on 
Thursday.  "That 's  the  only  excuse  that  '11  go  down  with 
this  bunch.  And  you  better  git  a  move  on  —  it  comes  off 
to-morrer  night,  remember." 

"I  won't  go,  Manleyl"  Val  consoled  herself  by  declar- 
ing, again  and  again.  "The  idea  of  Arline  Hawley  order- 
ing me  about  like  a  child !  Why  should  I  go  if  I  don't  care 
to  go?" 

"Search  me."  Manley  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It 
is  n't  so  long,  though,  since  you  were  just  as  determined 
to  stay  and  have  the  shivaree,  you  remember." 

"Well,  you  and  Mr.  Burnett  tried  to  do  exactly  what 
Arline  is  doing.  You  seemed  to  think  I  was  a  child,  to 
be  ordered  about." 

At  the  very  last  minute  —  to  be  explicit,  an  hour  before 
the  hall  was  lighted,  several  hours  after  smoke  first  began 
to  rise  from  the  chimney,  Val  suddenly  swerved  to  a 
reckless  mood.  Arline  had  gone  to  her  own  room  to 
dress,  too  angry  to  speak  what  was  in  her  mind.  She 
had  worked  since  five  o'clock  that  morning.  She  had 
bullied  Val,  she  had  argued,  she  had  begged,  she  had 
wheedled.  Val  would  not  go.  Arline  had  appealed 
to  Manley,  and  Manley  had  assured  her,  with  a 
suspicious  slurring  of  his  esses,  that  he  was  out  of  it, 
and  had  nothing  to  say.  Val,  he  said,  could  not  be 
driven. 


192  LONESOME    LAND 

It  was  after  Arline  had  gone  to  her  room  and  Manley 
had  returned  to  the  "oiffice"  that  Val  suddenly  picked 
up  her  hairbrush  and,  with  an  impish  Hght  in  her  eyes, 
began  to  pile  her  hair  high  upon  her  head.  With  her  lips 
curved  to  match  the  mockery  of  her  eyes,  she  began 
hurriedly  to  dress.  Later,  she  went  down  to  the  parlor, 
where  four  women  from  the  neighboring  ranches  were 
sitting  stiffly  and  in  constrained  silence,  waiting  to  be 
escorted  to  the  hall.  She  swept  in  upon  them,  a  glorious, 
shimmery  creature  all  in  white  and  gold.  The  women 
stared,  wavered,  and  looked  away  —  at  the  wall,  the 
floor,  at  anything  but  Val's  bare,  white  shoulders  and 
arms  as  white.    Arline  had  forgotten  to  look  for  gloves. 

Val  read  the  consternation  in  their  weather-tanned 
faces,  and  smiled  in  wicked  enjoyment.  She  would  shock 
all  of  Hope;  she  would  shock  even  Arline,  who  had  in- 
sisted upon  this.  Like  a  child  in  mischief,  she  turned 
and  went  rustling  down  the  hall  to  the  dining  room.  She 
wanted  to  show  Arline.  She  had  not  thought  of  the 
possibility  of  finding  any  one  but  Arline  and  Minnie 
there,  so  that  she  was  taken  slightly  aback  when  she 
discovered  Kent  and  another  man  eating  a  belated  supper. 

Kent  looked  up,  eyed  her  sharply  for  just  an  instant, 
and  smiled. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Fleetwood,"  he  said  calmly. 
"Ready  for  the  ball,  I  see.    We  got  in  late."    He  went 


ARLINE    GIVES    A    DANCE       193 

on  spreading  butter  upon  his  bread,  evidently  quite  un- 
impressed by  her  magnificence. 

The  other  man  stared  fixedly  at  his  plate.  It  was  a 
trifle,  but  Val  suddenly  felt  foolish  and  ashamed.  She 
took  a  step  or  two  toward  the  kitchen,  then  retreated; 
down  the  hall  she  went,  up  the  stairs  and  into  her  own 
room,  the  door  of  which  she  shut  and  locked. 

"Such  a  fool!"  she  whispered  vehemently,  and  stamped 
her  white-shod  foot  upon  the  carpet.  "He  looked  per- 
fectly disgusted  —  and  so  did  that  other  man.  And  no 
wonder.  Such  —  it's  vulgar,  Val  Fleetwood!  It's  just 
ill-bred,  and  coarse,  and  horrid!"  -She  threw  herself 
upon  the  bed  and  put  her  face  in  the  pillow. 

Some  one  —  she  thought  it  sounded  like  Manley  — 
came  up  and  tried  the  door,  stood  a  moment  before  it, 
and  went  away  again.  Arline's  voice,  sharpened  with 
displeasure,  she  heard  speaking  to  Minnie  upon  the  stairs. 
They  went  down,  and  there  was  a  confusion  of  voices 
below.  In  the  street  beneath  her  window  footsteps 
sounded  intermittently,  coming  and  going  with  a  certain 
eagerness  of  tread.  After  a  time  there  came,  from  a  dis- 
tance, the  sound  of  violins  and  the  "coronet"  of  which 
ArHne  had  been  so  proud;  and  mingled  with  it  was  an 
undercurrent  of  shuffling  feet,  a  mere  whisper  of  sound, 
cut  sharply  now  and  then  by  the  sharp  commands  of  the 
floor   manager.     They   were   dancing  —  in   her   honor. 


194  LONESOME    LAND 

And  she  was  a  fool;  a  proud,  ill-tempered,  selfish 
fool. 

With  one  of  her  quick  changes  of  mood  she  rose,  patted 
her  hair  smooth,  caught  up  a  wrap  oddly  inharmonious 
with  the  gown  and  slippers,  looped  her  train  over  her 
arm,  took  her  violin,  and  ran  lightly  down-stairs.  The 
parlor,  the  dining  room,  the  kitchen  were  deserted  and 
the  hghts  turned  low.  She  braced  herself  mentally,  and, 
flushing  at  the  unaccustomed  act,  rapped  timidly  upon 
the  door  which  opened  into  the  office  —  which  by  that 
time  she  knew  was  really  a  saloon.  Hawley  himself 
opened  the  door,  and  his  eyes  bulged  at  sight  of  her. 

"Is  Mr.  Fleetwood  here?  I  —  I  thought,  after  all,  I  'd 
go  to  the  dance,"  she  said,  in  rather  a  timid  voice,  shrink- 
ing back  into  the  shadow. 

"Fleetwood?  Why,  I  guess  he's  gone  on  over.  He 
said  you  was  n't  going.  You  wait  a  minute.  I  —  here, 
Kent!  You  take  Mrs.  Fleetwood  over  to  the  hall.  Man  's 
gone." 

"  Oh,  no !   I  —  really,  it  does  n't  matter  —  " 

But  Kent  had  already  thrown  away  his  cigarette  and 
come  out  to  her,  closing  the  door  immediately  after  him. 

"I  '11  take  you  over  —  I  was  just  going,  anyway,"  he 
assured  her,  his  eyes  dwelling  upon  her  rather  intently. 

"Oh  —  I  wanted  Manley.  I  —  I  hate  to  go  —  like 
this,  it  seems  so  —  so  queer,  in  this  place.    At  first  I — 


ARLINE    GIVES    A    DANCE       195 

I  thought  it  would  be  a  joke,  but  it  is  n't;  it 's  silly  and 
—  and  ill-bred.   You — everybody  will  be  shocked,  and  — " 

Kent  took  a  step  toward  her,  where  she  was  shrinking 
against  the  stairway.  Once  before  she  had  lost  her  calm 
composure  and  had  let  him  peep  into  her  mind.  Then 
it  had  been  on  account  of  Manley;  now,  womanlike,  it 
was  her  clothes. 

"You  could  n't  be  anything  but  all  right,  if  you  tried," 
he  told  her,  speaking  softly.  "  It  is  n't  silly  to  look  the 
way  the  Lord  meant  you  to  look.  You  —  you  —  oh,  you 
need  n't  worry  —  nobody 's  going  to  be  shocked  very 
hard."  He  reached  out  and  took  the  violin  from  her; 
took  also  her  arm  and  opened  the  outer  door.  "You  're 
late,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  more  commonplace  tone. 
"You  ought  to  have  overshoes,  or  something  —  those 
white  slippers  won't  be  so  white  time  you  get  there. 
Maybe  I  ought  to  carry  you." 

"The  idea!"  she  stepped  out  daintily  upon  the  slushy 
walk. 

"Well,  I  can  take  you  a  block  or  two  around,  and  have 
sidewalk  all  the  way;  that  '11  help  some.  Women  sure 
are  a  lot  of  bother  —  I  'm  plumb  sorry  for  the  poor  devils 
that  get  inveigled  into  marrying  one." 

"Why,  Mr.  Burnett!  Do  you  always  talk  like  that? 
Because  if  you  do,  I  don't  wonder  — " 

"No,"  Kent  interrupted,  looking   down  at   her  and 


196  LONESOME    LAND 

smiling  grimly,  "as  it  happens,  I  don't.  I  'm  real  nice, 
generally  speaking.  Say!  this  is  going  to  be  a  good  deal 
of  trouble,  do  you  know?  After  you  dance  with  hubby, 
you  Ve  got  to  waltz  with  me." 

"Got  to?"  Val  raised  her  eyebrows,  though  the  ex- 
pression was  lost  upon  him. 

"Sure.  Look  at  the  way  I  worked  like  a  horse,  saving 
your  life  —  and  the  cat's  —  and  now  leading  you  all 
over  town  to  keep  those  nice  white  slippers  clean!  By 
rights,  you  oughtn't  to  dance  with  anybody  else.  But 
I  ain't  looking  for  real  gratitude.  Four  or  five  waltzes  is 
all  I'll  insist  on,  but — "  His  tone  was  lugubrious  in 
the  extreme. 

"Well,  I  '11  waltz  with  you  once  —  for  saving  the  cat; 
and  once  for  saving  the  slippers.  For  saving  me,  I  'm 
not  sure  that  I  thank  you."  Val  stepped  carefully  over 
a  muddy  spot  on  the  walk.  "Mr.  Burnett,  you  —  really, 
you  're  an  awfully  queer  man." 

Kent  walked  to  the  next  crossing  and  helped  her  over 
it  before  he  answered  her.  "Yes,"  he  admitted  soberly 
then,  "I  reckon  you're  right.    I  am  —  queer." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  WEDDING  PRESENT 

SUNDAY  it  was,  and  Val  had  insisted  stubbornly 
upon  going  back  to  the  ranch;  somewhat  to  her 
surprise,  if  one  might  judge  by  her  face,  Arline  Hawley 
no  longer  demurred,  but  put  up  lunch  enough  for  a  week 
almost,  and  announced  that  she  was  going  along.  Hank 
would  have  to  drive  out,  to  bring  back  the  team,  and  she 
said  she  needed  a  rest,  after  all  the  work  and  worry  of 
that  dance.  Manley,  upon  whose  account  it  was  that 
Val  was  so  anxious,  seemed  to  have  nothing  whatever 
to  say  about  it.  He  was  sullenly  acquiescent  —  as  was 
perhaps  to  be  expected  of  a  man  who  had  slipped  into 
his  old  habits  and  despised  himself  for  doing  so,  and 
almost  hated  his  wife  because  she  had  discovered  it  and 
said  nothing.  Val  was  thankful,  during  that  long,  bleak 
ride  over  the  prairie,  for  Arline's  incessant  chatter.  It 
was  better  than  silence,  when  the  silence  means  bitter 
thoughts. 

"Now,"  said  Arline,  moving  excitedly  in  her  seat  when 
they  neared  Cold  Spring  Coulee,  "maybe  I  better  tell 
you  that  the  folks  round  here  has  kinda  planned  a  little 


198  LONESOME    LAND 

surprise  for  you.  They  don't  make  much  of  a  showin' 
about  bein'  neighborly  —  not  when  things  go  smooth  — 
but  they  're  right  there  when  trouble  comes.  It 's  jest 
a  little  weddin'  present  —  and  if  it  comes  kinda  late  in 
the  day,  why,  you  don't  want  to  mind  that.  My  dance 
that  I  gave  was  a  weddin'  party,  too,  if  you  care  to  call 
it  that.  Anyway,  it  was  to  raise  the  money  to  pay  for 
our  present,  as  far  as  it  went  —  and  I  want  to  tell  you 
right  now,  Val,  that  you  was  sure  the  queen  of  the  ball; 
everybody  said  you  looked  jest  like  a  queen  in  a  picture, 
and  I  never  heard  a  word  ag'inst  your  low-neck  dress. 
It  looked  all  right  on  yoUy  don't  you  see?  On  me,  for 
instance,  it  woulda  been  something  fierce.  And  I  'm  real 
glad  you  took  a  hold  and  danced  like  you  did,  and  never 
passed  nobody  up,  like  some  woulda  done.  You  '11  be 
glad  you  did,  now  you  know  what  it  was  for.  Even 
danced  with  Polycarp  Jenks  —  and  there  ain't  hardly 
any  woman  but  what  '11  turn  him  down;  I  '11  bet  he 
tromped  all  over  your  toes,  did  n't  he?" 

"Sometimes,"  Val  admitted.  "What  about  the  sur- 
prise you  were  speaking  of,  Mrs.  Hawley?" 

"It  does  seem  as  if  you  might  call  me  Arline,"  she 
complained  irrelevantly.  "We're  comin'  to  that  — 
don't  you  worry." 

"Is  it  — a  piano?" 

"My  lands,  no!    You  don't  need  a  fiddle  and  a  piano 


A    WEDDING    PRESENT  199 

both,  do  you?  Man,  what  'd  you  ruther  have  for  a  wed- 
din'  present?" 

Manley,  upon  the  front  seat  beside  Hank,  gave  his 
shoulders  an  impatient  twitch.  "Fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars," he  repHed  glumly. 

"I  'm  glad  you  're  real  modest  about  it,"  Arline  retorted 
sharply.  She  was  beginning  to  tell  herself  quite  frequently 
that  she  "  did  n't  have  no  time  for  Man  Fleetwood,  seeing 
he  would  n't  brace  up  and  quit  drinkin'." 

Val's  lips  curled  as  she  looked  at  Manley's  back.  "  What 
I  should  like,"  she  said  distinctly,  "is  a  great,  big  pile 
of  wood,  all  cut  and  ready  for  the  stove,  and  water  pails 
that  never  would  go  empty.  It 's  astonishing  how  one's 
desires  eventually  narrow  down  to  bare  essentials,  isn't 
it?  But  as  we  near  the  place,  I  find  those  two  things  more 
desirable  than  a  piano!"  Then  she  bit  her  lip  angrily 
because  she  had  permitted  herself  to  give  the  thrust. 

"Why,  you  poor  thing!  Man  Fleetwood,  do  you — " 

Val  impulsively  caught  her  by  the  arm.  "Oh,  hush! 
I  was  only  joking,"  she  said  hastily.  "I  was  trying  to 
balance  Manley's  wish  for  fifty  thousand  dollars,  don't 
you  see?  It  was  stupid  of  me,  I  know."  She  laughed 
unconvincingly.  "Let  me  guess  what  the  surprise  is. 
First,  is  it  large  or  small?" 

"Kinda  big,"  tittered  Arline,  falling  into  the  spirit 
of  the  joke. 


200  LONESOME    LAND 

"Bigger  than  a  —  wait,  now.    A  sewing  machine?" 

Arline  covered  her  mouth  with  her  hand  and  nodded 
dumbly. 

"You  say  all  the  neighbors  gave  it  and  the  dance 
helped  pay  for  it  —  let  me  see.  Could  it  possibly  be  — 
what  in  the  world  could  it  be?  Manley,  help  me  guess  I 
Is  it  something  useful,  or  just  something  nice?  " 

"Useful,"  said  Arline,  and  snapped  her  jaws  together 
as  if  she  feared  to  let  another  word  loose. 

"Larger  than  a  sewing  machine,  and  useful."  Val 
puckered  her  brows  over  the  puzzle.  "And  all  the  neigh- 
bors gave  it.  Do  you  know,  I  Ve  been  thinking  all  sorts 
of  nasty  things  about  our  poor  neighbors,  because  they 
refused  to  sell  Manley  any  hay.  And  all  the  while  they 
were  planning  this  sur  —  "  She  never  finished  that  sen- 
tence, or  the  word,  even. 

With  a  jolt  over  a  rock,  and  a  sharp  turn  to  the  right, 
Hank  had  brought  them  to  the  very  brow  of  the  hill, 
where  they  could  look  down  into  the  coulee,  and  upon 
the  house  standing  in  its  tiny,  unkempt  yard,  just  beyond 
the  sparse  growth  of  bushes  which  marked  the  spring 
creek.  Involuntarily  every  head  turned  that  way,  and 
every  pair  of  eyes  looked  downward.  Hank  chirped  to 
the  horses,  threw  all  his  weight  upon  the  brake,  and 
they  rattled  down  ^the  grade,  the  brake  block  squealing 
against   the  rear  wheels.     They  were  half-way  down 


A    WEDDING    PRESENT         201 

before  any  one  spoke.  It  was  Val,  and  she  almost 
whispered  one  word: 

"Manley!" 

Arline's  eyes  were  wet,  and  there  was  a  croak  in  her 
voice  when  she  cried  jubilantly :  "  Well,  ain't  that  better  'n 
a  sewin'  machine  —  or  a  piano?  " 

But  Val  did  not  attempt  an  answer.  She  was  staring  — 
staring  as  if  she  could  not  convince  herself  of  the  reality. 
Even  Manley  was  jarred  out  of  his  gloomy  meditations, 
and  half  rose  in  the  seat  that  he  might  see  over  Hank's 
shoulder. 

"That 's  what  your  neighbors  have  done,"  Arline 
began  eagerly,  "and  they  nearly  busted  tryin'  to  git 
through  in  time,  and  to  keep  it  a  dead  secret.  They 
worked  like  whiteheads,  lemme  tell  you,  and  never  even 
stopped  for  the  storm.  The  night  of  the  dance  I  heard  all 
about  how  they  had  to  hurry.  And  I  guess  Kent 's  there 
an'  got  a  fire  started,  like  I  told  him  to.  I  was  afraid  it 
might  be  colder  'n  what  it  is.  I  asked  him  if  he  would  n't 
ride  over  an'  warm  up  the  house  t'-day  —  and  I  see  there  's 
a  smoke,  all  right."  She  looked  at  Manley,  and  then 
turned  to  Val.  "Well,  ain't  you  goin'  to  say  anything? 
You  dumb,  both  of  you?" 

Val  took  a  deep  breath.  "We  should  be  dumb,"  she 
said  contritely.  "We  should  go  down  on  our  knees  and 
beg  their  pardon  and  yours  —  I  especially.    I  think  I  've 


202  LONESOME    LAND 

never  in  my  life  felt  quite  so  humbled  —  so  overwhelmed 
with  the  goodness  of  my  fellows,  and  my  own  unworthi- 
ness.  I  —  I  can't  put  it  into  words  —  all  the  resentment 
I  have  felt  against  the  country  and  the  people  in  it  —  as 
if  —  oh,  tell  them  all  how  I  want  them  to  forgive  me  for 
—  for  the  way  I  have  felt.    And  —  Arline  —  " 

"There,  now  —  I  did  n't  bargain  for  you  to  make  it  so 
serious,"  Arline  expostulated,  herself  near  to  crying.  "It 
ain't  nothing  much  —  us  folks  believe  in  helpin'  when 
help  's  needed,  that 's  all.  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  go 
'n'  cry  about  it!" 

Hank  pulled  up  at  the  gate  with  a  loud  whoa  and  a 
grip  of  the  brake.  From  the  kitchen  stovepipe  a  blue 
ribbon  of  smoke  waved  high  in  the  clear  air.  Kent  ap- 
peared, grinning  amiably,  in  the  doorway,  but  Val  was 
looking  beyond,  and  scarcely  saw  him  —  beyond,  where 
stood  a  new  stable  upon  the  ashes  of  the  old;  a  new  corral, 
the  posts  standing  solidly  in  the  holes  dug  for  those 
burned  away;  a  new  haystack  —  when  hay  was  almost 
priceless!  A  few  chickens  wandered  about  near  the 
stable,  and  Val  recognized  them  as  Arline's  prized  Ply- 
mouth Rocks.  Small  wonder  that  she  and  Manley  were 
stunned  to  silence.  Manley  still  looked  as  if  some  one 
had  dealt  him  an  unexpected  blow  in  the  face.  Val  was 
white  and  wide-eyed. 

Together  they  walked  out  to  the  stable.    When  they 


A    WEDDING    PRESENT         203 

stopped,  she  put  her  hand  timidly  upon  his  arm.  "Dear," 
she  said  softly,  "there  is  only  one  way  to  thank  them  for 
this,  and  that  is  to  be  the  very  best  it  is  in  us  to  be.  We 
will,  won't  we?  We  —  we  haven't  been  our  best,  but 
we  '11  start  in  right  now.    Shall  we,  Manley  ?  " 

Manley  looked  down  at  her  for  a  moment,  saying 
nothing. 

"Shall  we,  Manley?  Let  us  start  now,  and  try  again. 
Let 's  play  the  fire  burned  up  our  old  selves,  and  we  're 
all  new,  and  strong  —  shall  we?  And  we  won't  feel  any 
resentment  for  what  is  past,  but  we  '11  work  together, 
and  think  together,  and  talk  together,  without  any 
hidden  thing  we  can't  discuss  freely.    Please,  Manley!" 

He  knew  what  she  meant,  well  enough.  For  the  last 
two  days  he  had  been  drinking  again.  On  the  night  of 
the  dance  he  had  barely  kept  within  the  limit  of  decent 
behavior.  He  had  read  Val's  complete  understanding 
and  her  disgust  the  morning  after  —  and  since  then  they 
had  barely  spoken  except  when  speech  was  necessary. 
Oh,  he  knew  what  she  meant!  He  stood  for  another 
minute,  and  she  let  go  his  arm  and  stood  apart,  watching 
his  face. 

A  good  deal  depended  upon  the  next  minute,  and  they 
both  knew  it,  and  hardly  breathed.  His  hand  went 
slowly  into  a  deep  pocket  of  his  overcoat,  his  fingers 
closed  over  something,  and  drew  it  reluctantly  to  the 


204  LONESOME    LAND 

light.  Shamefaced,  he  held  it  up  for  her  to  see  —  a  flat 
bottle  of  generous  size,  full  to  within  an  inch  of  the  cork 
with  a  pale,  yellow  liquid. 

"There  —  take  it,  and  break  it  into  a  million  pieces," 
he  said  huskily.    "I  '11  try  again." 

Her  yellow-brown  eyes  darkened  perceptibly.  "Manley 
Fleetwood,  yourjnust  throw  it  away.  This  is  your  fight  — 
be  a  man  and  fight'* 

"Well  —  there!  May  God  damn  me  forever  if  I  touch 
liquor  again!  I  'm  through  with  the  stuff  for  keeps!"  He 
held  the  bottle  high,  without  looking  at  it,  and  sent  it 
crashing  against  the  stable  door. 

"Manley!"  She  stopped  her  ears,  aghast  at  his  words, 
but  for  all  that  her  eyes  were  ashine.  She  went  up  to  him 
and  put  her  arms  around  him.  "Now  we  can  start  all 
over  again,"  she  said.  "We  '11  count  our  lives  from  this 
minute,  dear,  and  we  '11  keep  them  clean  and  happy. 
Oh,  I  'm  so  glad!    So  glad  and  so  proud,  dear!" 

Kent  had  got  half-way  down  the  path  from  the  house; 
he  stopped  when  Manley  threw  the  bottle,  and  waited. 
Now  he  turned  abruptly  and  retraced  his  steps,  and  he 
did  not  look  particularly  happy,  though  he  had  been 
smiling  when  he  left  the  kitchen. 

Arline  turned  from  the  window  as  he  entered. 

"Looks  like  Man  has  swore  off  ag'in,"  she  observed 
dryly.    "Well,  let 's  hope  'n'  pray  he  stays  swore  off." 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  COMPACT 

THE  blackened  prairie  was  fast  hiding  the  mark 
of  its  fire  torture  under  a  cloak  of  tender  new 
grass,  vividly  green  as  a  freshly  watered,  well-kept 
lawn.  Meadow  larks  hopped  here  and  there,  search- 
ing long  for  a  sheltered  nesting  place,  and  missing  the 
weeds  where  they  were  wont  to  sway  and  swell  their 
yellow  breasts  and  sing  at  the  sun.  They  sang  just 
as  happily,  however,  on  their  short,  low  flights  over  the 
levels,  or  sitting  upon  gray,  half-buried  boulders  upon 
some  barren  hilltop.  Spring  had  come  with  lavish 
warmth.  The  smoke  of  burning  ranges,  the  bleak  winter 
with  its  sweeping  storms  of  snow  and  wind,  were  pushed 
into  the  past,  half  forgotten  in  this  new  heaven  and  new 
earth,  when  men  were  glad  simply  because  they  were 
aUve. 

On  a  still,  Sunday  morning  —  that  day  which,  when 
work  does  not  press,  is  set  apart  in  the  range  land  for 
slight  errands,  attention  to  one's  personal  affairs,  and 
to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  —  Kent  jogged  placidly  down 
the  long  hill  into  Cold  Spring  Coulee  and  pulled  up  at 


206  LONESOME    LAND 

the  familiar  little  unpainted  house  of  rough  boards,  with 
its  incongruously  dainty  curtains  at  the  windows  and  its 
tiny  yard,  green  and  scrupulously  clean. 

The  cat  with  white  spots  on  its  sides  was  washing  its 
face  on  the  kitchen  doorstep.  Val  was  kneeling  beside 
the  front  porch,  painstakingly  stringing  white  grocery 
twine  upon  nails,  which  she  drove  into  the  rough  posts 
with  a  small  rock.  The  primitive  trellis  which  resulted 
was  obviously  intended  for  the  future  encouragement  of 
the  sweet-pea  plants  just  unfolding  their  second  clusters 
of  leaves  an  inch  above  ground.  She  did  not  see  Kent 
at  first,  and  he  sat  quiet  in  the  saddle,  watching  her  with 
a  flicker  of  amusement  in  his  eyes;  but  in  a  moment  she 
struck  her  finger  and  sprang  up  with  a  sharp  little  cry, 
throwing  the  rock  from  her. 

"Didn't  you  know  that  was  going  to  happen,  sooner 
or  later? ''  Kent  inquired,  and  so  made  known  his  presence. 

"Oh  —  how  do  you  do?'*  She  came  smiling  down  to 
the  gate,  holding  the  hurt  finger  tightly  clasped  in  the 
other  hand.  "How  comes  it  you  are  riding  this  way? 
Our  trail  is  all  growing  up  to  grass,  so  few  ever  travel  it." 

"We  're  all  hard-working  folks  these  days.  Where  's 
Man?" 

"Manley  is  down  to  the  river,  I  think."  She  rested 
both  arms  upon  the  gatepost  and  regarded  him  with  her 
steady  eyes.    "  If  you  can  wait,  he  will  be  back  soon.    He 


ACOMPACT  207 

only  went  to  see  if  the  river  is  fordable.  He  thinks  two 
or  three  of  our  horses  are  on  the  other  side,  and  he  'd  like 
to  get  them.  The  river  has  been  too  high,  but  it 's  lower- 
ing rather  fast.  Won't  you  come  in?  "  She  was  pleasant, 
she  was  unusually  friendly,  but  Kent  felt  vaguely  that, 
somehow,  she  was  different. 

He  had  not  seen  her  for  three  months.  Just  after  Christ- 
mas he  had  met  her  and  Manley  in  town,  when  he  was 
about  to  leave  for  a  visit  to  his  people  in  Nebraska.  He 
had  returned  only  a  week  or  so  before,  and,  if  the  truth 
were  known,  he  was  not  displeased  at  the  errand  which 
brought  him  this  way.  He  dismounted,  and  when  she 
moved  away  from  the  gate  he  opened  it  and  went  in. 

"Well,"  he  began  lightly,  when  he  was  seated  upon 
the  floor  of  the  porch  and  she  was  back  at  her  trellis, 
"and  how  's  the  world  been  using  you?  Had  any  more 
calamities  while  I  Ve  been  gone? " 

She  busied  herself  with  tying  together  two  pieces  of 
string,  so  that  the  whole  would  reach  to  a  certain  nail 
driven  higher  than  her  head.  She  stood  with  both  hands 
uplifted,  and  her  face,  and  her  eyes;  she  did  not  reply 
for  so  long  that  Kent  began  to  wonder  if  she  had  heard 
him.  There  was  no  reason  why  he  should  watch  her  so 
intently,  or  why  he  should  want  to  get  up  and  push  back 
the  one  lock  of  hair  which  seemed  always  in  rebellion  and 
always  falling  across  her  temple  by  itself. 


208  LONESOME    LAND 

He  was  drifting  into  a  dreamy  wonder  that  all  women 
with  yellow-brown  hair  should  not  be  given  yellow- 
brown  eyes  also,  and  to  wishing  vaguely  that  it  might 
be  his  luck  to  meet  one  some  time  —  one  who  was  not 
married  —  when  she  looked  down  at  him  quite  unex- 
pectedly. He  was  startled,  and  half  ashamed,  and  afraid 
that  she  might  not  like  what  he  had  been  thinking. 

She  was  staring  straight  into  his  eyes,  and  he  knew 
that  she  was  thinking  of  something  that  affected  her  a 
good  deal. 

"Unless  it 's  a  calamity  to  discover  that  the  world  is  — 
what  it  is,  and  people  in  it  are  —  what  they  are,  and  that 
you  have  been  a  blind  idiot.  Is  that  a  calamity,  Mr. 
Cowboy?    Or  is  it  a  blessing?    I  Ve  been  wondering." 

Kent  discovered,  when  he  started  to  speak,  that  he 
had  run  short  of  breath.  "  I  reckon  that  depends  on  how 
the  discovery  pans  out,"  he  ventured,  after  a  moment. 
He  was  not  looking  at  her  then.  For  some  reason,  un- 
explained to  himself,  he  felt  that  it  was  n't  right  for  him 
to  look  at  her;  nor  wise;  nor  quite  pleasant  in  its  effect. 
He  did  not  know  exactly  what  she  meant,  but  he  knew 
very  well  that  she  meant  something  more  than  to  make 
conversation. 

"That,"  she  said,  and  gave  a  little  sigh  —  "that  takes 
so  long  —  don't  you  know?  The  panning  out,  as  you 
call  it.    It 's  hard  to  see  things  very  clearly,  and  to  make 


A    COMPACT 

a  decision  that  you  know  is  going  to  stand  the  test,  and 
then  —  just  sit  down  and  fold  your  hands,  because  some 
sordid,  petty  Httle  reason  absolutely  prevents  your  doing 
anything.  I  hate  waiting  for  anything.  Don't  you? 
When  I  want  to  do  a  thing,  I  want  to  do  it  immediately. 
These  sweet-peas  —  now  I  Ve  fixed  the  trellis  for  them 
to  climb  upon,  I  resent  it  because  they  don't  take  hold 
right  now.  Nasty  little  things  —  two  inches  high,  when 
they  should  be  two  yards,  and  all  covered  with  beautiful 
blossoms." 

"Not  the  last  of  April,"  he  qualified.  "Give  'em  a 
fair  chance,  can't  you?  They'll  make  it,  all  right; 
things  take  time." 

She  laughed  surrenderingly,  and  came  and  sat  down 
upon  the  porch  near  him,  and  tapped  a  slipper  toe  nerv- 
ously upon  the  soft,  green  sod. 

"Time!  Yes  — "  She  threw  back  her  head  and  smiled 
at  him  brightly  —  and  appealingly,  it  seemed  to  Kent. 
"You  remember  what  you  told  me  once  —  about  sheep- 
herders  and  suicli  going  crazy  out  here?  The  siich  is  some- 
times ready  to  agree  with  you."  She  turned  her  head 
with  a  quick  impatience.  "Such  is  learning  to  ride  a 
horse,"  she  informed  him  airily.  "Such  does  it  on  the 
sly  —  and  she  fell  off  once  and  skinned  her  elbow,  and 
she  —  well.  Such  has  n't  any  sidesaddle  —  but  she  's 
learning,  'by  granny!' " 


210  LONESOME    LAND 

Kent  laughed  unsteadily,  and  looked  sidelong  at  her 
with  eyes  alight.  She  matched  the  glance  for  just  about 
one  second,  and  turned  her  eyes  away  with  a  certain 
consciousness  that  gave  Kent  a  savage  delight.  Of  a 
truth,  she  was  different!  She  was  human,  she  was  in- 
tolerably alluring.  She  was  not  the  prim,  perfectly  well- 
bred  young  woman  he  had  met  at  the  train.  Lonesome 
Land  was  doing  its  work.  She  was  beginning  to  think 
as  an  individual  —  as  a  woman;  not  merely  as  a  member 
of  conventional  society. 

"  Such  is  beginning  to  be  the  proper  stuff — '  by  granny,' " 
he  told  her  softly. 

He  was  afraid  his  tone  had  offended  her.  She  rose, 
and  her  color  flared  and  faded.  She  leaned  slightly  against 
the  post  beside  her,  and,  with  a  hand  thrown  up  and  half 
shielding  her  face,  she  stared  out  across  the  coulee  to 
the  hill  beyond. 

"Did  you  —  I  feel  like  a  fool  for  talking  like  this,  but 
one  sometimes  clutches  at  the  least  glimmer  of  sympathy 
and  —  and  understanding,  and  speaks  what  should  be 
kept  bottled  up  inside,  I  suppose.  But  I  Ve  been  bottled 
up  for  so  long — "  She  struck  her  free  hand  suddenly 
against  her  lips,  as  if  she  would  apply  physical  force  to 
keep  them  from  losing  all  self-control.  When  she  spoke 
again,  her  voice  was  calmer.  "Did  you  ever  get  to  the 
point,  Mr.  Cowboy,  where  you  —  you  dug  right  down 


A    COMPACT  211 

to  the  bottom  of  things,  and  found  that  you  must  do  some- 
thing or  go  mad  —  and  there  was  n't  a  thing  you  could 
do?  Did  you  ever? "  She  did  not  tiu-n  toward  him,  but 
kept  her  eyes  to  the  hills.  When  he  did  not  answer, 
however,  she  swung  her  head  slowly  and  looked  down 
at  him,  where  he  sat  almost  at  her  feet. 

Kent  was  leaning  forward,  studying  the  gashes  he  had 
cut  in  the  sod  with  his  spurs.  His  brows  were  knitted 
close. 

"I  kinda  think  I  'm  getting  there  pretty  fast,"  he 
owned  gravely  when  he  felt  her  gaze  upon  him.    "Why? " 

"Oh  —  because  you  can  understand  how  one  must 
speak  sometimes.  Ever  since  I  came,  you  have  been  — 
r  don't  know  —  different.  At  first  I  did  n't  like  you  at 
all;  but  I  could  see  you  were  different.  Since  then  — 
well,  you  have  now  and  then  said  something  that  made 
me  see  one  could  speak  to  you,  and  you  would  understand. 
So  I  — "  She  broke  off  suddenly  and  laughed  an  apology. 
"Am  I  boring  you  dreadfully?  One  grows  so  self-centered 
living  alone.    If  you  aren't  interested — " 

"I  am."  Kent  was  obliged  to  clear  his  throat  to  get 
those  two  words  out.    "  Go  on.    Say  all  you  want  to  say." 

She  laughed  again  wearily.  "Lately,"  she  confessed 
nervously,  "I  've  taken  to  telling  my  thoughts  to  the  cat. 
It 's  perfectly  safe,  but,  after  all,  it  is  n't  quite  satisfying." 
She  stopped  again,  and  stood  silent  for  a  moment. 


212  LONESOME    LAND 

"  It 's  because  I  am  alone,  day  after  day,  week  in  and 
week  out,**  she  went  on.  "In  a  way,  I  don't  mind  it  — 
under  the  circumstances  I  prefer  to  be  alone,  really.  I 
mean,  I  would  n't  want  any  of  my  people  near  me.  But 
one  has  too  much  time  to  think.  I  tell  you  this  because 
I  feel  I  ought  to  let  you  know  that  you  were  right  that 
time;  I  don't  suppose  you  even  remember  it!  But  I  do. 
Once  last  fall  —  the  first  time  you  came  to  the  ranch  — 
you  know,  the  time  I  met  you  at  the  spring,  you  seemed 
to  see  that  this  big,  lonesome  country  was  a  little  too 
much  for  me.  I  resented  it  then.  I  did  n't  want  any 
one  to  tell  me  what  I  refused  to  admit  to  myself.  I  was 
trying  so  hard  to  like  it  —  it  seemed  my  only  hope,  you 
see.    But  now  I  '11  tell  you  you  were  right. 

"Sometimes  I  feel  very  wicked  about  it.  Sometimes 
I  don't  care.  And  sometimes  I  —  I  feel  I  shall  go  crazy 
if  I  can't  talk  to  some  one.  Nobody  comes  here,  except 
Polycarp  Jenks.  The  only  woman  I  know  really  well 
in  the  country  is  Arline  Hawley.  She  's  good  as  gold, 
but  —  she's  intensely  practical;  you  can't  tell  her  your 
troubles  —  not  unless  they  're  concrete  and  have  to  do 
with  your  physical  well-being.  Arline  lacks  imagination." 
She  laughed  again  shortly. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  'm  taking  it  for  granted  you 
don't,"  she  said.  "You  think  I  'm  talking  pure  nonsense, 
don't  you,  Mr.  Cowboy?"    She  turned  full  toward  him, 


ACOMPACT  213 

and  her  yellow-brown  eyes  challenged  him,  begged  him 
for  sympathy  and  understanding,  held  him  at  bay  — 
but  most  of  all  they  set  his  blood  pounding  sullenly  in 
his  veins.    He  got  unsteadily  to  his  feet. 

"You  seem  to  pass  up  a  lot  of  things  that  count,  or 
you  would  n't  say  that,"  he  reminded  her  huskily.  "That 
night  in  town,  just  after  the  fire,  for  instance.  And  here, 
that  same  afternoon.  I  tried  to  jolly  you  out  of  feeling 
bad,  both  those  times;  but  you  know  I  understood. 
You  know  damn'  well  I  understood!  And  you  know  I 
was  sorry.  And  if  you  don't  know,  I  'd  do  anything  on 
God's  green  earth — "  He  turned  sharply  away  from 
her  and  stood  kicking  savagely  backward  at  a  clod  with 
his  rowel.  Then  he  felt  her  hand  touch  his  arm,  and 
started.  After  that  he  stood  perfectly  still,  except  that 
he  quivered  like  a  frightened  horse. 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  mean  much  to  you  —  you  have  your 
life,  and  you  're  a  man,  and  can  do  things  when  you  want 
to.  But  I  do  so  need  a  friend!  Just  somebody  who  under- 
stands, to  whom  I  can  talk  when  that  is  the  only  thing 
will  keep  me  sane.  You  saved  my  life  once,  so  I  feel  — 
no,  I  don't  mean  that.  It  is  n't  because  of  anything  you 
did;  it 's  just  that  I  feel  I  can  talk  to  you  more  freely 
than  to  any  one  I  know.  I  don't  mean  whine.  I  hope 
I  'm  not  a  whiner.  If  I  've  blundered,  I  'm  willing  to  — 
to  take  my  medicine,  as  you  would  say.    But  if  I  can  feel 


214  LONESOME    LAND 

that  somewhere  in  this  big,  empty  country  just  one  per- 
son will  always  feel  kindly  toward  me,  and  wish  me  well, 
and  be  sorry  for  me  when  I  —  when  I  'm  miserable,  and 
— "  She  could  not  go  on.  She  pressed  her  lips  together 
tightly,  and  winked  back  the  tears. 

Kent  faced  about  and  laid  both  his  hands  upon  her 
shoulders.  His  face  was  very  tender  and  rather  sad, 
and  if  she  had  only  understood  as  well  as  he  did  —  But 
she  did  not. 

"Little  woman,  listen  here,"  he  said.  "You  're  playing 
hard  luck,  and  I  know  it;  maybe  I  don't  know  just  how 
hard  —  but  maybe  I  can  kinda  give  a  guess.  If  you  'II 
think  of  me  as  your  friend  —  your  pal,  and  if  you  '11 
always  tell  yourself  that  your  pal  is  going  to  stand  by 
you,  no  matter  what  comes,  why  —  all  right."  He  caught 
his  breath. 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  honestly  pleased,  wholly  without 
guile  —  and  wholly  blind.  "  I  'd  rather  have  such  a 
friend,  just  now,  than  anything  I  know,  except —  But 
if  your  sweetheart  should  object  —  could  you  — " 

His  fingers  gripped  her  shoulders  tighter  for  just  a 
second,  and  he  let  her  go.  "I  guess  that  part  '11  be  all 
right,"  he  rejoined  in  a  tone  she  could  not  quite  fathom. 
"I  never  had  one  in  m'  life." 

"Why,  you  poor  thing!"  She  stood  back  and  tilted 
her  head  at  him.     "You  poor  —  fal.    I'll  have  to  see 


^'Little  woman,  listen  here/'  he  said.     "  You  're  playing  hard 
luck,  and  I  know  it."     Page  214. 


ACOMPACT  215 

about  that  immediately.  Every  young  man  wants  a 
sweetheart  —  at  least,  all  the  young  men  I  ever  knew 
wanted  one,  and  — '* 

"And  1 11  gamble  they  all  wanted  the  same  one,"  he 
hinted  wickedly,  feeling  himself  unreasonably  happy 
over  something  he  could  not  quite  put  into  words,  even 
if  he  had  dared. 

"Oh,  no.  Hardly  ever  the  same  one,  luckily.  Do  you 
know  —  pal,  I  Ve  quite  forgotten  what  it  was  all  about  — 
the  unburdening  of  my  soul,  I  mean.  After  all,  I  think 
I  must  have  been  just  lonesome.  The  country  is  just 
as  big,  but  it  is  n't  quite  so  —  so  empty,  you  see.  Are  n't 
you  awfully  vain,  to  see  how  you  have  peopled  it  with 
your  friendship?"  She  clasped  her  hands  behind  her 
and  regarded  him  speculatively.  "I  hope,  Mr.  Cowboy, 
you  're  in  earnest  about  this,"  she  observed  doubtfully. 
"  I  hope  you  have  imagination  enough  to  see  it  is  n't 
silly,  because  if  I  suspected  you  were  n't  playing  fair,  and 
would  go  away  and  laugh  at  me,  I  'd  —  scratch  —  you." 
She  nodded  her  head  slowly  at  him.  "  I  've  always  been  told 
that,  with  tiger  eyes,  you  find  the  disposition  of  a  tiger. 
So  if  you  don't  mean  it,  you  'd  better  let  me  know  at  once." 

Kent  brought  the  color  into  her  cheeks  with  his  steady 
gaze.  "I  was  just  getting  scared  y(m  didn't  mean  it," 
he  averred.  "If  my  pal  goes  back  on  me  —  why,  Lord 
helpherl" 


216  LONESOME    LAND 

She  took  a  slow,  deep  breath.  "How  is  it  you  men 
ratify  a  solemn  agreement?"  she  puzzled.  "Oh,  yes." 
With  a  pretty  impulse  she  held  out  her  right  hand,  half 
grave,  half  playful.    "Shake  on  it,  pal!" 

Kent  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  as  hard  as  he  dared. 
"You  're  going  to  be  a  dandy  little  chum,"  he  predicted 
gamely.  "But  let  me  tell  you  right  now,  if  you  ever 
get  up  on  your  stilts  with  me,  there  's  going  to  be  all 
kinds  of  trouble.  You  call  me  Kent  —  that  is,"  he  quali- 
fied, with  a  little,  unsteady  laugh,  "when  there  ain't  any 
one  around  to  get  shocked." 

"  I  suppose  this  is  n't  quite  conventional,"  she  con- 
ceded, as  if  the  thought  had  just  then  occurred  to  her. 
"  But,  thank  goodness,  out  here  there  are  n't  any  con- 
ventions. Every  one  lives  as  every  one  sees  fit.  It  is  n't 
the  best  thing  for  some  people,"  she  added  drearily. 
"Some  people  have  to  be  bolstered  up  by  conventions, 
or  they  can't  help  miring  in  their  own  weaknesses. 
But  we  don't;  and  as  long  as  we  understand — "  She 
looked  to  him  for  confirmation. 

"As  long  as  we  understand,  why,  it  ain't  anybody's 
business  but  our  own,"  he  declared  steadily. 

She  seemed  relieved  of  some  lingering  doubt.  "That 's 
exactly  it.  I  don't  know  why  I  should  deny  myself  a 
friend,  just  because  that  friend  happens  to  be  a  man, 
and  I  happen  to  be  —  married.     I  never  did  have  much 


ACOMPACT  n7 

patience  with  the  rule  that  a  man  must  either  be  per- 
fectly indifferent,  or  else  make  love.  I  'm  so  glad  you  — 
understand.  So  that 's  all  settled/*  she  finished  briskly, 
"  and  I  find  that,  as  I  said,  it  is  n't  at  all  necessary  for 
me  to  unburden  my  soul." 

They  stood  quiet  for  a  moment,  their  thoughts  too 
intangible  for  speech. 

"  Come  inside,  won't  you? "  she  invited  at  last,  coming 
back  to  everyday  matters.  "  Of  course  you  're  hungry  — 
or  you  ought  to  be.  You  dare  n't  run  away  from  my 
cooking  this  time,  Mr.  Cowboy.  Manley  will  be  back 
soon,  I  think.    I  must  get  some  lunch  ready." 

Kent  replied  that  he  would  stay  outside  and  smoke, 
so  she  left  him  with  a  fleeting  smile,  infinitely  friendly 
and  confiding  and  glad.  He  turned  and  looked  after 
her  soberly,  gave  a  great  sigh,  and  reached  mechanically 
for  his  tobacco  and  papers;  thoughtfully  rolled  a  cigar- 
ette, lighted  it,  and  held  the  match  until  it  burned  quite 
down  to  his  thumb  and  fingers.  "Pals!"  he  said  just 
under  his  breath,  for  the  mere  sound  of  the  word.  "All 
right  —  pals  it  is,  then." 

He  smoked  slowly,  listening  to  her  moving  about  in 
the  house.    Her  steps  came  nearer.    He  turned  to  look. 

"What  was  it  you  wanted  to  see  Manley  about?"  she 
asked  him  from  the  doorway.  "  I  just  happened  to  won- 
der what  it  could  be." 


218  LONESOME    LAND 

"Well,  the  Wishbone  needs  men,  and  sent  me  over  to 
tell  him  he  can  go  to  work.  The  wagons  are  going  to  start 
to-morrow.  He  '11  want  to  gather  his  cattle  up,  and  of 
course  we  know  about  how  he  's  fixed  —  for  saddle  horses 
and  the  like.  He  can  work  for  the  outfit  and  draw  wages, 
and  get  his  cattle  thrown  back  on  this  range  and  his  calves 
branded  besides.  Get  paid  for  doing  what  he  '11  have 
to  do  anyhow,  you  see." 

"I  see."  Val  pushed  back  the  rebellious  lock  of  hair. 
"Of  course  you  suggested  the  idea  to  the  Wishbone. 
You  're  always  doing  something — " 

"The  outfit  is  short-handed,"  he  reiterated.  "They 
need  him.  They  ain't  straining  a  point  to  do  Man  a 
favor  —  don't  you  ever  think  it!  Well  —  he  's  coming," 
he  broke  off,  and  started  to  the  gate. 

Manley  clattered  up,  vociferously  glad  to  greet  him. 
Kent,  at  his  urgent  invitation,  led  his  horse  to  the  stable 
and  turned  him  into  the  corral,  unsaddled  and  unbridled 
him  so  that  he  could  eat.  Also,  he  told  his  errand.  Man- 
ley  interrupted  the  conversation  to  produce  a  bottle  of 
whisky  from  a  cunningly  concealed  hole  in  the  depleted 
haystack,  and  insisted  that  Kent  should  take  a  drink. 
Kent  waved  it  off,  and  Manley  drew  the  cork  and  held 
the  bottle  to  his  own  lips. 

As  he  stood  there,  with  his  face  uplifted  while  the  yellow 
liquor  gurgled  down  his  throat,  Kent  watched  him  with 


A    COMPACT  219 

a  curiously  detached  interest.  So  that 's  how  Manley 
had  kept  his  vow!  he  was  thinking,  with  an  impersonal 
contempt.    Four  good  swallows  —  Kent  counted  them. 

"You  ^re  hitting  it  pretty  strong,  Man,  for  a  fellow 
that  swore  off  last  fall,"  he  commented  aloud. 

Manley  took  down  the  bottle,  gave  a  sigh  of  pure, 
animal  satisfaction,  and  pushed  the  cork  in  with  an  un- 
consciously regretful  movement. 

"  A  fellow 's  got  to  get  something  out  of  life,"  he  defended 
peevishly.  "  I  Ve  had  pretty  hard  luck  —  it 's  enough 
to  drive  a  fellow  to  most  any  kind  of  relief.  Burnt  out, 
last  fall  —  cattle  scattered  and  calves  running  the  range 
all  winter  —  I  haven't  got  stock  enough  to  stand  that 
sort  of  a  deal,  Kent.  No  telling  where  I  stand  now  on 
the  cattle  question.  I  did  have  close  to  a  hundred  head 
—  and  three  of  my  best  geldings  are  missing  —  a  poor 
man  can't  stand  luck  like  that.  I  'm  in  debt  too  —  and 
when  you  Ve  got  an  iceberg  in  the  house  —  when  a  man's 
own  wife  don't  stand  by  him  —  when  he  can't  get  any 
sympathy  from  the  very  one  that  ought  to  —  but,  then, 
I  hope  I  'm  a  gentleman;  I  don't  make  any  kick  against 
her  —  my  domestic  affairs  are  my  own  affairs.  Sure. 
But  when  your  wife  freezes  up  solid — "  He  held  the 
bottle  up  and  looked  at  it.  "Best  friend  I  've  got,"  he 
finished,  with  a  whining  note  in  his  voice. 

Kent  turned  away  disgusted.    Manley  had  coarsened. 


220  LONESOME    LAND 

He  had  "slopped  down"  just  when  he  should  have  braced 
up  and  caught  the  fighting  spu-it  —  the  spirit  that  fights 
and  overcomes  obstacles.  With  a  tightening  of  his  chest, 
he  thought  of  his  "pal/*  tied  for  life  to  this  whining 
drunkard.    No  wonder  she  felt  the  need  of  a  friend! 

"Well,  are  you  going  out  with  the  Wishbone?"  he 
asked  tersely,  jerking  his  thoughts  back  to  his  errand. 
"  If  you  are,  you  '11  need  to  go  over  there  to-night  —  the 
wagons  start  out  to-morrow.  Maybe  you  better  ride 
around  by  Polly's  place  and  have  him  come  over  here, 
once  in  a  while,  to  look  after  things.  You  can't  leave 
your  wife  alone  without  somebody  to  kinda  keep  an  eye 
out  for  her,  you  know.  Polycarp  ain't  going  to  ride  this 
spring;  he 's  got  rheumatism,  or  some  darned  thing. 
But  he  can  chop  what  wood  she  '11  need,  and  go  to  town 
for  her  once  in  a  while,  and  make  sure  she  's  all  right. 
You  better  leave  your  gentlest  horse  here  for  her  to  use, 
too.    She  can't  be  left  afoot  out  here." 

Manley  was  taking  another  long  swallow  from  the 
bottle,  but  he  heard. 

"Why,  sure  —  I  never  thought  about  that.  I  guess 
maybe  I  had  better  get  Polycarp.  But  Val  could  make 
out  all  right  alone.  Why,  she  's  held  it  down  here  for  a 
week  at  a  time  —  last  winter,  when  I  'd  forget  to  come 
home"  —  he  winked  shamelessly  —  "or  a  storm  would 
come  up  so  I  could  n't  get  home.    Val  is  n't  like  some 


A    COMPACT  221 

fool  women,  I  '11  say  that  much  for  her.  She  don't  care 
whether  I  'm  around  or  not;  fact  is,  sometimes  I  think 
she  's  better  pleased  when  I  'm  gone.  But  you  're  right 
—  I  '11  see  Polycarp  and  have  him  come  over  once  in  a 
while.  Sure.  Glad  you  spoke  of  it.  You  always  had  a 
great  head  for  thinking  about  other  people,  Kent.  You 
ought  to  get  married." 

"No,  thanks,"  Kent  scowled.  "I  haven't  got  any 
grudge  against  women.  The  world  's  full  of  men  ready 
and  willing  to  give  'em  a  taste  of  pure,  unadulterated 
hell." 

Manley  stared  at  him  stupidly,  and  then  laughed 
doubtfully,  as  if  he  felt  certain  of  having,  by  his  dullness, 
missed  the  point  of  a  very  good  joke. 

After  that  the  time  was  filled  with  the  preparations  for 
Manley's  absence.  Kent  did  what  he  could  to  help,  and 
Val  went  calmly  about  the  house,  packing  the  few  neces- 
sary personal  belongings  which  might  be  stuffed  into  a 
"war  bag"  and  used  during  round-up.  Beyond  an  occa- 
sional glance  of  friendly  understanding,  she  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  the  compact  she  had  made  with  Kent. 

But  when  they  were  ready  to  ride  away,  Kent  purposely 
left  his  gloves  lying  upon  the  couch,  and  remembered 
them  only  after  Manley  was  in  the  saddle.  So  he  went 
back,  and  Val  followed  him  into  the  room.  He  wanted 
to  say  something  —  he  did  not  (juite  know  what  —  some- 


£22  LONESOME    LAND 

thing  that  would  bring  them  a  little  closer  together,  and 
keep  them  so;  something  that  would  make  her  think  of 
him  often  and  kindly.  He  picked  up  his  gloves  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  her  —  and  then  a  diffidence  seized  his 
tongue.  There  was  nothing  he  dared  say.  All  the  elo- 
quence, all  the  tenderness,  was  in  his  eyes. 

"Well  —  good-by,  pal.  Be  good  to  yourself,"  he  said 
simply. 

Val  smiled  up  at  him  tremulously.  "  Good-by,  my  one 
friend.     Don't  — don't  get  hurt!" 

Their  clasp  tightened,  their  hands  dropped  apart  rather 
limply.  Kent  went  out  and  got  upon  his  horse,  and  rode 
away  beside  Manley,  and  talked  of  the  range  and  of 
the  round-up  and  of  cattle  and  a  dozen  other  things  which 
interest  men.  But  all  the  while  one  exultant  thought 
kept  reiterating  itself  in  his  mind:  "She  never  said  that 
much  to  him  !   She  never  said  that  much  to  him  !" 


CHAPTER  XVI 
manley's  new  tactics 

To  the  east,  to  the  south,  to  the  north  went  the  riders 
of  the  Wishbone,  gathering  the  cattle  which  the 
fires  had  driven  afar.  No  rivers  stopped  them,  nor  moun- 
tains, nor  the  deep-scarred  coulees,  nor  the  plains.  It 
was  Manley's  first  experience  in  real  round-up  work,  for 
his  own  little  herd  he  had  managed  to  keep  close  at  home, 
and  what  few  strayed  afar  were  turned  back,  when  oppor- 
tunity afforded,  by  his  neighbors,  who  wished  him  well. 
Now  he  tasted  the  pride  of  ownership  to  the  full,  when  a 
VP  cow  and  her  calf  mingled  with  the  milling  Wishbones 
and  Double  Diamonds.  He  was  proud  of  his  brand,  and 
proud  of  the  sentiment  which  had  made  him  choose  VaFs 
initials.  More  than  once  he  explained  to  his  fellows  that 
VP  meant  Val  Peyson,  and  that  he  had  got  it  recorded 
just  after  he  and  Val  were  engaged.  He  was  not  senti- 
mental about  her  now,  but  he  liked  to  dwell  upon  the 
fact  that  he  had  been;  it  showed  that  he  was  capable  of 
fine  feeling. 

More  dominant,  however,  as  the  weeks  passed  and 
the  branding  went  on,  became  the  desire  to  accumulate 


LONESOME    LAND 

property  —  cattle.  The  Wishbone  brand  went  scorching 
through  the  hair  of  hundreds  of  calves,  while  the  VP 
seared  tens.  It  was  not  right.  He  felt,  somehow,  cheated 
by  fate.  He  mentally  figured  the  increase  of  his  herd, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  took  a  long  while,  much 
longer  than  it  should,  to  gain  a  respectable  number  in 
that  manner.  He  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  some  rich 
acquaintance  in  the  East  who  might  be  prevailed  upon 
to  lend  him  capital  enough  to  buy,  say,  five  hundred  cows. 
He  began  to  talk  about  it  occasionally  when  the  boys  lay 
around  in  the  evenings. 

"You  want  to  ride  with  a  long  rope,"  suggested  Bob 
Royden,  grinning  openly  at  the  others.  "  That 's  the 
way  to  work  up  in  the  cow  business.  Capital  nothing! 
You  don't  get  enough  excitement  buying  cattle;  you 
want  to  steal  'em.  That 's  what  I  'd  do  if  I  had  a  brand 
of  my  own  and  all  your  ambitions  to  get  rich.'' 

"And  get  sent  up,"  Manley  rounded  out  the  situation. 
"No,  thanks."  He  laughed.  "It 's  a  better  way  to  get 
to  the  pen  than  it  is  to  get  rich,  from  all  accounts." 

Sandy  Moran  remembered  a  fellow  who  worked  a  brand 
and  kept  it  up  for  seven  or  eight  years  before  they  caught 
him,  and  he  recounted  the  tale  between  puffs  at  his  cigar- 
ette. "Only  they  did  n't  catch  him,"  he  finished.  "A 
puncher  put  him  wise  to  what  was  in  the  wind,  and  he 
sold  out  cheap  to  a  tenderfoot  and  pulled  his  freight. 


MANLEY'S    NEW    TACTICS      225 

They  never  did  locate  him."  Then,  with  a  pointed  rock 
which  he  picked  up  beside  him,  he  drew  a  rude  diagram 
or  two  in  the  dirt.  "  That 's  how  he  done  it,"  he  explained. 
"Pretty  smooth,  too." 

So  the  talk  went  on,  as  such  things  will,  idly,  without 
purpose  save  to  pass  the  time.  Shop  talk  of  the  range  it 
was.  Tales  of  stealing,  of  working  brands,  and  of  brand- 
ing unmarked  yearlings  at  weaning  time.  Of  this  big 
cattleman  and  that,  who  practically  stole  whole  herds, 
and  thereby  took  long  strides  toward  wealth.  Range 
scandals  grown  old;  range  gossip  all  of  it,  of  men  who 
had  changed  a  brand  or  made  one,  using  a  cinch  ring  at 
a  tiny  fire  in  a  secluded  hollow,  or  a  spur,  or  a  jackknife; 
who  were  caught  in  the  act,  after  the  act,  or  merely  sus- 
pected of  the  crime.  Of  "sweat"  brands,  blotched  brands, 
brands  added  to  and  altered,  of  trials,  of  shootings,  of 
hangings,  even,  and  "getaways"  spectacular  and  humor- 
ous and  pathetic. 

Manley,  being  in  a  measure  a  pilgrim,  and  having  no 
experience  to  draw  upon,  and  not  much  imagination,  took 
no  part  in  the  talk,  except  that  he  listened  and  was  in- 
tensely interested.  Two  months  of  mingling  with  men 
who  talked  little  else  had  its  influence. 

That  fall,  when  Manley  had  his  hay  up,  and  his  cattle 
once  more  ranging  close,  toward  the  river  and  in  the 
broken  country  bounded  upon  the  west  by  the  fenced- 


226  LONESOME    LAND 

in  railroad,  three  calves  bore  the  VP  brand  —  three 
husky  heifers  that  never  had  suckled  a  VP  mother.  So 
had  the  range  gossip,  sown  by  chance  in  the  soil  of 
his  greed  of  gain  and  his  weakening  moral  fiber,  borne 
fruit. 

The  deed  scared  him  sober  for  a  month.  For  a  month 
his  color  changed  and  his  blood  quickened  whenever  a 
horseman  showed  upon  the  rim  of  Cold  Spring  Coulee. 
For  a  month  he  never  left  the  ranch  unless  business  com- 
pelled him  to  do  so,  and  his  return  was  speedy,  his  eyes 
anxious  until  he  knew  that  all  was  well.  After  that  his 
confidence  returned.  He  grew  more  secretive,  more  self- 
assured,  more  at  ease  with  his  guilt.  He  looked  the 
Wishbone  men  squarely  in  the  eye,  and  it  seldom  occurred 
to  him  that  he  was  a  thief;  or  if  it  did,  the  word  was  but 
a  synonym  for  luck,  with  shrewdness  behind.  Sometimes 
he  regretted  his  timidity.  Why  three  calves  only?  In  a 
deep  Httle  coulee  next  the  river  —  a  coulee  which  the 
round-up  had  missed  —  had  been  more  than  three.  He 
might  have  doubled  the  number  and  risked  no  more  than 
for  the  three.  The  longer  he  dwelt  upon  that  the  more 
inclined  he  was  to  feel  that  he  had  cheated  himself. 

That  fall  there  were  no  fires.  It  would  be  long  before 
men  grew  careless  when  the  grass  was  ripened  and  the 
winds  blew  hot  and  dry  from  out  the  west.  The  big 
prairie  which  lay  high  between  the  river  and  Hope  was 


MANLEY'S    NEW   TACTICS      227 

dotted  with  feeding  cattle.  Wishbones  and  Double 
Diamonds,  mostly,  with  here  and  there  a  stray. 

Manley  grew  wily,  and  began  to  plan  far  in  advance. 
He  rode  here  and  there,  quietly  keeping  his  own  cattle 
well  down  toward  the  river.  There  was  shelter  there,  and 
feed,  and  the  idea  was  a  good  one.  Just  before  the  river 
broke  up  he  saw  to  it  that  a  few  of  his  own  cattle,  and 
with  them  some  Wishbone  cows  and  a  steer  or  two,  were 
ranging  in  a  deep,  bushy  coulee,  isolated  and  easily  passed 
by.  He  had  driven  them  there,  and  he  left  them  there. 
That  spring  he  worked  again  with  the  Wishbone. 

When  the  round-up  swept  the  home  range,  gathering 
and  branding,  it  chanced  that  his  part  of  the  circle  took 
him  and  Sandy  Moran  down  that  way.  It  was  hot,  and 
they  had  thirty  or  forty  head  of  cattle  before  them 
when  they  neared  that  particular  place. 

"No  need  going  down  into  the  breaks  here,"  he  told 
Sandy  easily.  "  I  Ve  been  hazing  out  everything  I  came 
across  lately.  They  were  mostly  my  own,  anyway.  I 
believe  I  Ve  got  it  pretty  well  cleaned  up  along  here." 

Sandy  was  not  the  man  to  hunt  hard  riding.  He  went 
to  the  rim  of  the  coulee  and  looked  down  for  a  minute. 
He  saw  nothing  moving,  and  took  Mauley's  word  for  it 
with  no  stirring  of  his  easy-going  conscience.  He  said  all 
right,  and  rode  on. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

VAL  BECOMES  AN  AUTHOR 

OUITE  as  marked  had  been  the  change  in  Val  that 
year.  Every  time  Kent  saw  her,  he  recognized  the 
fact  that  she  was  a  little  different;  a  little  less  superior 
in  her  attitude,  a  little  more  independent  in  her  views  of 
life.  Her  standards  seemed  slowly  changing,  and  her 
way  of  thinking.  He  did  not  see  her  often,  but  when  he 
did  the  mockery  of  their  friendship  struck  him  more 
keenly,  his  inward  rebellion  against  circumstances  grew 
more  bitter.  He  wondered  how  she  could  be  so  blind  as 
to  think  they  were  just  pals,  and  no  more.  She  did  think 
so.  All  the  little  confidences,  all  the  glances,  all  the 
smiles,  she  gave  and  received  frankly,  in  the  name  of 
friendship. 

"You  know,  Kent,  this  is  my  ideal  of  how  people  should 
be,"  she  told  him  once,  with  a  perfectly  honest  enthusiasm. 
"  I  Ve  always  dreamed  of  such  a  friendship,  and  I  Ve 
always  believed  that  some  day  the  right  man  would  come 
along  and  make  it  possible.  Not  one  in  a  thousand  could 
understand  and  meet  one  half-way  —  " 


VAL    BECOMES    AN   AUTHOR 

"They  'd  be  liable  to  go  farther,"  Kent  assented 
dryly. 

"Yes.  That 's  just  the  trouble.  They  'd  spoil  an  ideal 
friendship  by  falling  in  love." 

"Darned  chumps,"  Kent  classed  them  sweepingly. 

"Exactly.  Pal,  your  vocabulary  excites  my  envy.  It's 
so  forcible  sometimes." 

Kent  grinned  reminiscently.    "It  sure  is,  old  girl." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  necessarily  profane.  I  wonder  what 
your  vocabulary  will  do  to  the  secret  I  'm  going  to  tell 
you."  The  sweet-peas  had  reached  the  desired  height 
and  profusion  of  blossoms,  thanks  to  the  pails  and  pails 
of  water  Val  had  carried  and  lavished  upon  them,  and 
she  was  gathering  a  handful  of  the  prettiest  blooms  for 
him.  Her  cheeks  turned  a  bit  pinker  as  she  spoke, 
and  her  hesitation  raised  a  wild  hope  briefly  in  Kent's 
heart. 

"What  is  it?"    He  had  to  force  the  words  out. 

"I  —  I  hate  to  tell,  but  I  want  you  to  —  to  help  me." 

"Well?"  To  Kent,  at  that  moment,  she  was  not 
Manley's  wife;  she  was  not  any  man's  wife;  she  was  the 
girl  he  loved  —  loved  with  the  primitive,  absorbing  pas- 
sion of  the  man  who  lives  naturally  and  does  not  borrow 
his  morals  from  his  next-door  neighbor.  His  code  of 
ethics  was  his  own,  thought  out  by  himself.  Val  hated 
her  husband,  and  her  husband  did  not  seem  to  care  much 


230  LONESOME    LAND 

for  her.  They  were  tied  together  legally.  And  a  mere 
legality  could  not  hold  back  the  emotions  and  the  desires 
of  Kent  Burnett.  With  him,  it  was  not  a  question  of 
morals :  it  was  a  question  of  Val's  feeling  in  the  matter. 

Val  looked  up  at  him,  found  something  strange  in  his 
eyes,  and  immediately  looked  away  again. 

"Your  eyes  are  always  saying  things  I  can't  hear," 
she  observed  irrelevantly. 

"Are  they?    Do  you  want  me  to  act  as  interpreter?" 

"No.  I  just  want  you  to  listen.  Have  you  noticed 
anything  different  about  me  lately,  Kent?"  She  tilted 
her  head,  while  she  passed  judgment  upon  a  cluster  of 
speckled  blossoms,  odd  but  not  particularly  pretty. 

"What  do  you  mean,  anyway?  I  'm  liable  to  get  off 
wrong  if  I  tell  you  —  " 

"Oh,  you  're  so  horribly  cautious!  Have  I  seemed  any 
more  content  —  any  happier  lately?" 

Kent  picked  a  spray  of  flowers  and  pulled  them  ruth- 
lessly to  pieces.  "Maybe  I  Ve  kinda  hoped  so,"  he  said, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  Well,  I  Ve  a  new  interest  in  life.  I  just  discovered  it 
by  accident,  almost  —  " 

Kent  lifted  his  head  and  looked  keenly  at  her,  and  his 
face  was  a  lighter  shade  of  brown  than  it  had  been. 

"  It  seems  to  change  everything.  Pal,  I  —  I  Ve  been 
writing  things." 


VAL   BECOMES    AN   AUTHOR   ^31 

Kent  discovered  he  had  been  holding  his  breath,  and 
let  it  go  in  a  long  sigh. 

"Oh!'^  After  a  minute  he  smiled  philosophically. 
"What  kinda  things?"  he  drawled. 

"Well,  verses,  but  mostly  stories.  You  see,"  she  ex- 
plained impulsively,  "  I  want  to  earn  some  money  —  of 
my  own.  I  have  n't  said  much,  because  I  hate  whining; 
but  really,  things  are  growing  pretty  bad  —  between 
Manley  and  me.  I  hope  it  is  n't  my  fault.  I  have  tried 
every  way  I  know  to  keep  my  faith  in  him,  and  to  —  to 
help  him.  But  he  's  not  the  same  as  he  was.  You  know 
that.  And  I  have  a  good  deal  of  pride.  I  can't  —  oh, 
it 's  intolerable  having  to  ask  a  man  for  money!  Espe- 
cially when  he  does  n't  want  to  give  you  any,"  she  added 
naively.  "At  first  it  was  n't  necessary;  I  had  a  little  of 
my  own,  and  all  my  things  were  new.  But  one  must  event- 
ually buy  things  —  for  the  house,  you  know,  and  for  one's 
personal  needs  —  and  he  seems  to  resent  it  dreadfully.  I 
never  would  have  believed  that  Manley  could  be  stingy 
—  actually  stingy;  but  he  is,  unfortunately. 

"  I  hate  to  speak  of  his  faults,  even  to  you.  But  I  've 
got  to  be  honest  with  you.  It  is  n't  nice  to  say  that  I  'm 
writing,  not  for  any  particularly  burning  desire  to  express 
my  thoughts,  nor  for  the  sentiment  of  it,  but  to  earn 
money.  It 's  terribly  sordid,  is  n't  it?"  She  smiled  wist- 
fully up  at  him.    "But  there  seems  to  be  money  in  it,  for 


LONESOME    LAND 

those  who  succeed,  and  it 's  work  that  I  can  do  here.  I 
have  oceans  of  time,  and  I  'm  not  disturbed!"  Her  lips 
curved  into  bitter  lines.  "  I  do  so  much  thinking,  I  might 
as  well  put  my  brain  to  some  use."  With  one  of  her 
sudden  changes  of  mood,  she  turned  to  Kent  and  clasped 
both  hands  upon  his  arm. 

"Now  you  see,  pal,  how  much  our  friendship  means  to 
me,"  she  said  softly.  "I  could  n't  have  told  this  to  an- 
other living  soul!  It  seems  awfully  treacherous,  saying 
it  even  to  you  —  I  mean  about  him.  But  you  're  so 
good  —  you  always  understand,  don't  you,  pal?" 

"I  guess  so."  Kent  forced  the  words  out  naturally, 
and  kept  his  breath  even,  and  his  arms  from  clasping  her. 
He  considered  that  he  performed  quite  a  feat  of  endurance. 

"You're  modest!"  She  gave  his  arm  a  little  shake. 
"  Of  course  you  do.  You  know  I  'm  not  treacherous, 
really.  You  know  I  'd  do  anything  I  could  for  him.  But 
this  is  something  that  does  n't  concern  him  at  all.  He 
does  n't  know  it,  but  that  is  because  he  would  only  sneer. 
When  I  have  really  sold  something,  and  received  the 
money  for  it,  then  it  won't  matter  to  me  who  knows. 
But  now  it 's  a  solemn  secret,  just  between  me  and  my 
pal."    Her  yellow-brown  eyes  dwelt  upon  his  face. 

Kent,  stealing  a  glance  at  her  from  under  his  drooped 
lids,  wondered  if  she  had  ever  given  any  time  to  analyzing 
herself.    He  would  have  given  much  to  know  if,  down 


VAL    BECOMES    AN    AUTHOR    233 

deep  in  her  heart,  she  really  believed  in  this  pal  business; 
if  she  was  really  a  friend,  and  no  more.  She  puzzled  him 
a  good  deal,  sometimes. 

"Well  —  if  anybody  can  make  good  at  that  business, 
you  sure  ought  to;  you  Ve  got  brains  enough  to  write  a 
dictionary.'*  He  permitted  himself  the  indulgence  of  say- 
ing that  much,  and  he  was  perfectly  sincere.  He  honestly 
considered  Val  the  cleverest  woman  in  the  world. 

She  laughed  with  gratification.  "Your  sublime  con- 
fidence, while  it  is  undoubtedly  mistaken,  is  nevertheless 
appreciated,"  she  told  him  primly,  moving  away  with 
her  hands  full  of  flowers.  "  If  you  Ve  got  the  nerve,  come 
inside  and  read  some  of  my  stuff;  I  want  to  know  if  it 's 
any  good  at  all." 

Presently  he  was  seated  upon  the  couch  in  the  little, 
pathetically  bright  front  room,  and  he  was  knitting  his 
eyebrows  over  VaFs  beautifully  regular  handwriting,  — 
pages  and  pages  of  it,  so  that  there  seemed  no  end  to  the 
task,  —  and  was  trying  to  give  his  mind  to  what  he  was 
reading  instead  of  to  the  author,  sitting  near  him  with 
her  hands  folded  demurely  in  her  lap  and  her  eyes  fixed 
expectantly  upon  his  face,  trying  to  read  his  decision 
even  as  it  was  forming. 

Some  verses  she  had  tried  on  him  first.  Kent,  by 
using  all  his  determination  of  character,  read  them  all, 
every  word  of  them. 


234  LONESOME    LAND 

"That 's  sure  all  right,"  he  said,  though,  beyond  a  tel- 
ling phrase  or  two,  —  one  line  in  particular  which  would 
stick  in  his  memory: 

"  Men  live  and  love  and  die  in  that  lonely  land,"  — 

he  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  what  it  was  all  about. 
Certain  lines  seemed  to  go  bumping  along,  and  one  had 
to  mispronounce  some  of  the  final  words  to  make  them 
rhyme  with  others  gone  before,  but  it  was  all  right  —  Val 
wrote  it. 

"I  think  I  do  better  at  stories,"  she  ventured  modestly. 
"I  wrote  one  —  a  little  story  about  university  life  —  and 
sent  it  to  a  magazine.  They  wrote  a  lovely  letter  about 
it,  but  it  seems  that  field  is  overdone,  or  something.  The 
editor  asked  me  why,  living  out  here  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  West,  I  don't  try  Western  stories.  I  think  I  shall  — 
and  that 's  why  I  said  I  should  need  your  help.  I  thought 
we  might  work  together,  you  know.  You  Ve  lived  here 
so  long,  and  ought  to  have  some  splendid  ideas  —  things 
that  have  happened,  or  that  you  Ve  heard  —  and  you 
could  tell  me,  and  I  'd  write  them  up.  Would  n't  you 
like  to  collaborate  —  'go  in  cahoots'  on  it?" 

"Sure."  Kent  regarded  her  thoughtfully.  She  really 
w'as  looking  brighter  and  happier,  and  her  enthusiasm 
was  not  to  be  mistaken.  Her  world  had  changed.  "Any- 
thing I  can  do  to  help,  you  know  — " 


VAL    BECOMES    AN    AUTHOR    235 

"Of  course  I  know.  I  think  it 's  perfectly  splendid, 
don^t  you?  We  *11  divide  the  money  —  when  there  is 
any,  and  — '* 

"  Will  we?  "   His  tone  was  noncommittal  in  the  extreme. 

"Of  course.  Now,  don't  let's  quarrel  about  that  till 
we  come  to  it.  I  have  a  good  idea  of  my  own,  I  think, 
for  the  first  story.  A  man  comes  out  here  and  disappears, 
you  know,  and  after  a  while  his  sister  comes  to  find  him. 
She  gets  into  all  kinds  of  trouble  —  is  kidnapped  by  a 
gang  of  robbers,  and  kept  in  a  cave.  When  the  leader 
of  the  gang  comes  back  —  he  has  been  away  on  some 
depredation  —  you  see,  I  have  only  the  bare  outline  of 
the  story  yet  —  and,  well,  it's  her  brother!  He  kills 
the  one  who  kidnapped  her,  and  she  reforms  him.  Of 
course,  there  ought  to  be  some  love  interest.  I  think, 
perhaps,  one  member  of  the  gang  ought  to  fall  in  love 
with  her,  don't  you  know?  And  after  a  while  he  wins 
her—" 

"She'll  reform  him,  too,  I  reckon." 

"Oh,  yes.  She  couldn't  love  a  man  she  couldn't 
respect  —  no  woman  could." 

"Oh!"  Kent  took  a  minute  to  apply  that  personally. 
It  was  of  value  to  him,  because  it  was  an  indication  of 
Val's  own  code.  "Maybe,"  he  suggested  tentatively, 
"she  'd  get  busy  and  reform  the  whole  bunch." 

"Oh,  say  —  that  would  be  great!    She's  an  awfully 


236  LONESOME    LAND 

sweet  little  thing  —  perfectly  lovely,  you  know  —  and 
they  'd  all  be  in  love  with  her,  so  it  would  n't  be  improb- 
able. Don't  you  remember,  Kent,  you  told  me  once 
that  a  man  would  do  anything  for  a  woman,  if  he  cared 
enough  for  her?  " 

"Sure.  He  would,  too."  Kent  fought  back  a  momen- 
tary temptation  to  prove  the  truth  of  it  by  his  own 
acquiescence  in  this  pal  business.  He  was  saved  from 
disaster  by  a  suspicion  that  Val  would  not  be  able  to 
see  it  from  his  point  of  view,  and  by  the  fact  that  he  would 
much  rather  be  pals  than  nothing. 

She  would  have  gone  on,  talking  and  planning  and 
discussing,  indefinitely.  But  the  sun  slid  lower  and  lower, 
and  Kent  was  not  his  own  master.  The  time  came  when 
he  had  to  go,  regardless  of  his  own  wishes,  or  hers. 

When  he  came  again,  the  story  was  finished,  and  Val 
was  waiting,  with  extreme  impatience,  to  read  it  to  him  and 
hear  his  opinion  before  she  sent  it  away.  Kent  was  not  so 
impatient  to  hear  it,  but  he  did  not  tell  her  so.  He  had 
not  seen  her  for  a  month,  and  he  wanted  to  talk;  not 
about  anything  in  particular  —  just  talk  about  little 
things,  and  see  her  eyes  light  up  once  in  a  while,  and 
her  lips  purse  primly  when  he  said  something  daring, 
and  maybe  have  her  play  something  on  the  violin,  while 
he  smoked  and  watched  her  slim  wrist  bend  and  rise  and 
fall  with  the  movement  of  the  bow.    He  could  imagine 


VAL    BECOMES    AN    AUTHOR   237 

no  single  thing  more  fascinating  than  that  —  that,  and 
the  way  she  cuddled  the  violin  under  her  chin,  in  the 
hollow  of  her  neck. 

But  Val  would  not  play  —  she  had  been  too  busy  to 
practice,  all  spring  and  summer;  she  scarcely  ever  touched 
the  violin,  she  said.  And  she  did  not  want  to  talk  —  or 
if  she  did,  it  was  plain  that  she  had  only  one  theme.  So 
Kent,  perforce,  listened  to  the  story.  Afterward,  he 
assured  her  that  it  was  "outa  sight.''  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  half  the  time  he  had  not  heard  a  word  of  what  she 
was  reading;  he  had  been  too  busy  just  looking  at  her 
and  being  glad  he  was  there.  He  had,  however,  a  dim 
impression  that  it  was  a  story  with  people  in  it  whom 
one  does  not  try  to  imagine  as  ever  being  alive,  and  with 
a  West  which,  beyond  its  evident  scarcity  of  inhabitants, 
was  not  the  West  he  knew  anything  about.  One  para- 
graph of  description  had  caught  his  attention,  because 
it  seemed  a  fairly  accurate  picture  of  the  bench  land 
which  surrounded  Cold  Spring  Coulee;  but  it  had  not 
seemed  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  story  itself.  Of 
course,  it  must  be  good  —  Val  wrote  it.  He  began  to 
admire  her  intensely,  quite  apart  from  his  own  personal 
subjugation. 

Val  was  pleased  with  his  praise.  For  two  solid  hours 
she  talked  of  nothing  but  that  story,  and  she  gave  him 
some  fresh  chocolate  cake  and  a  pitcher  of  lemonade,  and 


238  LONESOME    LAND 

urged  him  to  come  again  in  about  three  weeks,  when  she 
expected  to  hear  from  the  magazine  she  thought  would 
be  glad  to  take  the  story;  the  one  whose  editor  had  sug- 
gested that  she  write  of  the  West. 

In  the  fall,  and  in  the  winter,  their  discussions  were 
frequently  hampered  by  Manley*s  presence.  But  VaFs 
enthusiasm,  though  nipped  here  and  there  by  unappreci- 
ative  editors,  managed,  somehow,  to  live;  or  perhaps 
it  had  developed  into  a  dogged  determination  to  succeed 
in  spite  of  everything.  She  still  wrote  things,  and  she 
still  read  them  to  Kent  when  there  was  time  and  oppor- 
tunity; sometimes  he  was  bold  enough  to  criticize  the 
worst  places,  and  to  tell  her  how  she  might,  in  his  opinion, 
remedy  them.    Occasionally  Val  would  take  his  advice. 

So  the  months  passed.  The  winds  blew  and  brought 
storm  and  heat  and  sunshine  and  cloud.  Nothing,  in 
that  big  land,  appreciably  changed,  except  the  people; 
and  they  so  imperceptibly  that  they  failed  to  realize  it 
until  afterward. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
val's  discovery 

WITH  a  blood-red  sun  at  his  back  and  a  rosy 
tinge  upon  all  the  hills  before  him,  Manley  rode 
slowly  down  the  western  rim  of  Cold  Spring  Coulee,  driv- 
ing five  rebellious  calves  that  had  escaped  the  branding 
iron  in  the  spring.  Though  they  were  not  easily  driven 
in  any  given  direction,  he  was  singularly  patient  with 
them,  and  refrained  from  bellowing  epithets  and  admon- 
itions, as  might  have  been  expected.  When  he  was  almost 
down  the  hill,  he  saw.  Val  standing  in  the  kitchen  door, 
shading  her  eyes  with  her  hands  that  she  might  watch 
his  approach. 

"Open  the  corral  gate!"  he  shouted  to  her,  in  the  tone 
of  command.  "And  stand  back  where  you  can  head 
'em  off  if  they  start  up  the  coulee!" 

Val  replied  by  doing  as  she  was  told;  she  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  wasting  words  upon  Manley;  they  seemed 
always  to  precipitate  an  unpleasant  discussion  of  some 
sort,  as  if  he  took  it  for  granted  she  disapproved  of  all  he 
did  or  said,  and  was  always  upon  the  defensive. 


240  LONESOME    LAND 

The  calves  came  on,  lumbering  awkwardly  in  a  half- 
hearted gallop,  as  if  they  had  very  little  energy  left. 
Their  tongues  protruded,  their  mouths  dribbled  a  lathery 
foam,  and  their  rough,  sweaty  hides  told  Val  of  the  long 
chase  —  for  she  was  wiser  in  the  ways  of  the  range  land 
than  she  had  been.  She  stood  back,  gently  waving  her 
ruffled  white  apron  at  them,  and  when  they  dodged  into 
the  corral,  rolling  eyes  at  her,  she  ran  up  and  slammed 
the  gate  shut  upon  them,  looped  the  chain  around  the 
post,  and  dropped  the  iron  hook  into  a  link  to  fasten  it. 
Manley  galloped  up,  threw  himself  oif  his  panting  horse, 
and  began  to  unsaddle. 

"Get  some  wood  and  start  a  fire,  and  put  the  iron  in, 
Val,"  he  told  her  brusquely. 

Val  looked  at  him  quickly.  "Now?  Supper 's  all 
ready,  Manley.  There  's  no  hurry  about  branding  them, 
is  there?"  And  she  added:  "Dear  me!  The  round- 
up must  have  just  skimmed  the  top  off  this  range  last 
spring.  You  Ve  had  to  brand  a  lot  of  calves  that  were 
missed." 

"What  the  devil  is  it  to  you?"  he  demanded  roughly. 
"I  want  that  fire,  madam,  and  I  want  it  now.  I  rather 
think  I  know  when  I  want  to  brand  without  asking  your 
advice." 

Val  curved  her  lips  scornfully,  shrugged  and  obeyed. 
She  was  used  to  that  sort  of  thing,  and  she  did  not  mind 


VAL'S    DISCOVERY  241 

very  much.  He  had  brutalized  by  degrees,  and  by  degrees 
she  had  hardened.  He  could  rouse  no  feeUng  now  but 
contempt. 

"If  you'll  kindly  wait  until  I  put  back  the  supper," 
she  said  coldly.  "I  suppose  in  your  zeal  one  need  not 
sacrifice  your  food;  you  're  still  rather  particular  about 
that,  I  observe." 

Manley  was  leading  his  horse  to  the  stable,  and,  though 
he  answered  something,  the  words  were  no  more  than  a 
surly  mumble. 

"He's  been  drinking  again," Val  decided  dispassion- 
ately, on  the  way  to  the  house.  "I  suppose  he  carried  a 
bottle  in  his  pocket  —  and  emptied  it." 

She  was  not  long;  there  was  a  penalty  of  profane  re- 
proach attached  to  delay,  however  slight,  when  Manley 
was  in  that  mood.  She  had  the  fire  going  and  the  VP 
iron  heating  by  the  time  he  had  stabled  and  fed  his  horse, 
and  had  driven  the  calves  into  the  smaller  pen.  He  drove 
a  big,  line-backed  heifer  into  a  corner,  roped  and  tied 
her  down  with  surprising  dexterity,  and  turned  impatiently. 

"Come!    Is  n't  that  iron  ready  yet?" 

Val,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  drew  it  out  and 
inspected  it  indifferently. 

"It  is  not,  Mr.  Fleetwood.  If  you  are  in  a  very  great 
hurry,  why  not  apply  your  temper  to  it  —  and  a  few 
choice  remarks?" 


LONESOME    LAND 

"Oh,  don't  try  to  be  sarcastic  —  it's  too  pathetic, 
Kick  a  little  life  into  that  fire." 

"  Yes,  sir — thank  you,  sir. "  Val  could  be  rather  exasper- 
ating when  she  chose.  She  always  could  be  sure  of  making 
Manley  silently  furious  when  she  adopted  that  tone  of  re- 
spectful servility  —  as  employed  by  butlers  and  footmen 
upon  the  stage.    Her  mimicry,  be  it  said,  was  very  good. 

"'Ere  it  is,  sir  —  thank  you,  sir  —  'ope  I  'ave  n't  kept 
you  wyting,  sir,"  she  announced,  after  he  had  fumed  for 
two  minutes  inside  the  corral,  and  she  had  cynically 
hummed  her  way  quite  through  the  hymn  which  begins 
"Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds."  She  passed  the  white-hot 
iron  deftly  through  the  rails  to  him,  and  fixed  the  fire 
for  another  heating. 

Really,  she  was  not  thinking  of  Manley  at  all,  nor  of 
his  mood,  nor  of  his  brutal  coarseness.  She  was  thinking 
of  the  rebuilt  typewriter,  advertised  as  being  exactly  as 
good  as  a  new  one,  and  scandalously  cheap,  for  which  she 
had  sold  her  watch  to  Arline  Hawley  to  get  money  to 
buy.  She  was  counting  mentally  the  days  since  she  had 
sent  the  money  order,  and  was  thinking  it  should  come 
that  week  surely. 

She  was  also  planning  to  seize  upon  the  opportunity 
afforded  by  Mauley's  next  absence  for  a  day  from  the 
ranch,  and  drive  to  Hope  on  the  chance  of  getting  the 
machine.    Only  —  she  wished  she  could  be  sure  whether 


VAL'S    DISCOVERY  243 

Kent  would  be  coming  soon.  She  did  not  want  to  miss 
seeing  him;  she  decided  to  sound  Poly  carp  Jenks  the 
next  time  he  came.  Polycarp  would  know,  of  course, 
whether  the  Wishbone  outfit  was  in  from  round-up. 
Polycarp  always  knew  everything  that  had  been  done, 
or  was  intended,  among  the  neighbors. 

Manley  passed  the  ill-smelling  iron  back  to  her,  and 
she  put  it  in  the  fire,  quite  mechanically.  It  was  not  the 
first  time,  nor  the  second,  that  she  had  been  called  upon 
to  help  brand.  She  could  heat  an  iron  as  quickly  and 
evenly  as  most  men,  though  Manley  had  never  troubled 
to  tell  her  so. 

Five  times  she  heated  the  iron,  and  heard,  with  an 
inward  quiver  of  pity  and  disgust,  the  spasmodic  blat 
of  the  calf  in  the  pen  when  the  VP  went  searing  into  the 
hide  on  its  ribs.  She  did  not  see  why  they  must  be  branded 
that  evening,  in  particular,  but  it  was  as  well  to  have 
it  done  with.  Also,  if  Manley  meant  to  wean  them,  she 
would  have  to  see  that  they  were  fed  and  watered,  she 
supposed.  That  would  make  her  trip  to  town  a  hurried 
one,  if  she  went  at  all;  she  would  have  to  go  and  come 
the  same  day,  and  Arline  Hawley  would  scold  and  beg 
her  to  stay,  and  call  her  a  fool. 

"  Now,  how  about  that  supper? "  asked  Manley,  when 
they  were  through,  and  the  air  was  clearing  a  little  from 
the  smoke  and  the  smell  of  burned  hair. 


244  LONESOME    LAND 

"  I  really  don't  know  —  I  smelled  the  potatoes  burning 
some  time  ago.  I  '11  see,  however."  She  brushed  her 
hands  with  her  handkerchief,  pushed  back  the  lock  of 
hair  that  was  always  falling  across  her  temple,  and,  because 
she  was  really  offended  by  Manley's  attitude  and  tone, 
she  sang  softly  all  the  way  to  the  house,  merely  to  con- 
ceal from  him  the  fact  that  he  could  move  her  even  to 
irritation.  Her  best  weapon,  she  had  discovered  long 
ago,  was  absolute  indifference  —  the  indifference  which 
overlooked  his  presence  and  was  deaf  to  his  recriminations. 

She  completed  her  preparations  for  his  supper,  made 
sure  that  nothing  was  lacking  and  that  the  tea  was  just 
right,  placed  his  chair  in  position,  filled  the  water  glass 
beside  his  plate,  set  the  tea-pot  where  he  could  reach 
it  handily,  and  went  into  the  living  room  and  closed  the 
door  between.  In  the  past  year,  filled  as  it  had  been 
with  her  literary  ambitions  and  endeavors,  she  had  neg- 
lected her  music;  but  she  took  her  vioUn  from  the  box, 
hunted  the  cake  of  resin,  tuned  the  strings,  and,  when 
she  heard  him  come  into  the  kitchen  and  sit  down  at  the 
table,  seated  herself  upon  the  front  doorstep  and  began 
to  play. 

There  was  one  bit  of  music  which  Manley  thoroughly 
detested.  That  was  the  "Traumerei."  Therefore,  she 
played  the  "Traumerei"  slowly  —  as  it  should,  of  course, 
be  played  —  with  full  value  given  to  all  the  pensive, 


VAL'S    DISCOVERY  245 

long-drawn  notes,  and  with  a  finale  positively  creepy 
in  its  dreamy  wistfulness.  Val,  as  has  been  stated,  could 
be  very  exasperating  when  she  chose. 

In  the  kitchen  there  was  the  subdued  rattle  of  dishes, 
unbroken  and  unhurried.  Val  went  on  playing,  but  she 
forgot  that  she  had  begun  in  a  half-conscious  desire  to 
annoy  her  husband.  She  stared  dreamily  at  the  hill 
which  shut  out  the  world  to  the  east,  and  yielded  to  a 
mood  of  loneliness;  of  longing,  in  the  abstract,  for  all 
the  pleasant  things  she  was  missing  in  this  life  which 
she  had  chosen  in  her  ignorance. 

When  Manley  flung  open  the  inner  door,  she  gave  a 
stifled  exclamation;  she  had  forgotten  all  about  Manley. 

"By  all  the  big  and  little  gods  of  Greece!  '*  he  swore 
angrily.  "Calves  bawling  their  heads  off  in  the  corral, 
and  you  squalling  that  whiny  stuff  you  call  music  in 
the  house  —  home  *s  sure  a  hell  of  a  happy  place!  I  'm 
going  to  town.  You  don't  want  to  leave  the  place 
till  I  come  back  —  I  want  those  calves  looked  after." 
He  seemed  to  consider  something  mentally,  and  then 
added: 

"If  I  'm  not  back  before  they  qm't  bawling,  you  can 
turn  'em  down  in  the  river  field  with  the  rest.  You  know 
when  they  're  weaned  and  ready  to  settle  down.  Don't 
feed  'em  too  much  hay,  like  you  did  that  other  bunch; 
just  give  'em  what  they  need;  you  don't  have  to  pile  the 


246  LONESOME    LAND 

corral  full.  And  don't  keep  'em  shut  up  an  hour  longer 
than  necessary." 

Val  nodded  her  head  to  show  that  she  heard,  and  went 
on  playing.  There  was  seldom  any  pretense  of  good 
feeling  between  them  now.  She  tuned  the  violin  to  minor, 
and  poised  the  bow  over  the  strings,  in  some  doubt  as  to 
her  memory  of  a  serenade  she  wanted  to  try  next. 

"Shall  I  have  Poly  carp  take  the  team  and  haul  up 
some  wood  from  the  river?  "  she  asked  carelessly.  "  We  're 
nearly  out  again." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care  —  if  he  happens  along."  He  turned 
and  went  out,  his  mind  turning  eagerly  to  the  town  and 
what  it  could  give  him  in  the  way  of  pleasure. 

Val,  still  sitting  in  the  doorway,  saw  him  ride  away 
up  the  grade  and  disappear  over  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
The  dusk  was  settling  softly  upon  the  land,  so  that  his 
figure  was  but  a  vague  shape.  She  was  alone  again; 
she  rather  liked  being  alone,  now  that  she  had  no  longer 
a  blind,  unreasoning  terror  of  the  empty  land.  She  had 
her  thoughts  and  her  work;  the  presence  of  Manley  was 
merely  an  unpleasant  interruption  to  both. 

Some  time  in  the  night  she  heard  the  lowing  of  a  cow 
somewhere  near.  She  wondered  dreamily  what  it  could 
be  doing  in  the  coulee,  and  went  to  sleep  again.  The 
five  calves  were  all  bawling  in  a  chorus  of  complaint 
against  their  forced  separation  from  their  mothers,  and 


VAL'S    DISCOVERY  U7 

the  deeper,  throaty  tones  of  the  cow  mingled  not  inhar- 
moniously  with  the  sound. 

Range  cattle  were  not  permitted  in  the  coulee,  and 
when  by  chance  they  found  a  broken  panel  in  the  fence 
and  strayed  down  there,  Val  drove  them  out;  afoot, 
usually,  with  shouts  and  badly  aimed  stones  to  accelerate 
their  lumbering  pace. 

After  she  had  eaten  her  breakfast  in  the  morning  she 
went  out  to  investigate.  Beyond  the  corral,  her  nose 
thrust  close  against  the  rails,  a  cow  was  bawling  dismally. 
Inside,  in  much  the  same  position,  its  tail  waving  a  violent 
signal  of  its  owner's  distress,  a  calf  was  clamoring  hysteri- 
cally for  its  mother  and  its  mother's  milk. 

Val  sympathized  with  them  both;  but  the  cow  did  not 
belong  in  the  coulee,  and  she  gathered  two  or  three  small 
stones  and  went  around  where  she  could  frighten  her 
away  from  the  fence  without,  however,  exposing  herself 
too  recklessly  to  her  uncertain  temper.  Cows  at  weaning 
time  did  sometimes  object  to  being  driven  from  their 
calves. 

"Shoo!  Go  on  away  from  there!''  Val  raised  a  stone 
and  poised  it  threateningly. 

The  cow  turned  and  regarded  her,  wild-eyed.  It  backed 
a  step  or  two,  evidently  uncertain  of  its  next  move. 

"Go  on  away!"  Val  was  just  on  the  point  of  throwing 
the  rock,  when  she  dropped  it  unheeded  to  the  ground  and 


248  LONESOME    LAND 

stared.  "Why,  you  —  you  —  why  —  the  idea!  "  She 
turned  slowly  white.  Certain  things  must  filter  to  the 
understanding  through  amazement  and  disbelief;  it 
took  Val  a  minute  or  two  to  grasp  the  significance  of 
what  she  saw.  By  the  time  she  did  grasp  it,  her  knees 
were  bending  weakly  beneath  the  weight  of  her  body. 
She  put  out  a  groping  hand  and  caught  at  the  corner  of 
the  corral  to  keep  herself  from  falling.  And  she  stared 
and  stared. 

"It  —  oh,  surely  not!''  she  whispered,  protesting 
against  her  understanding.  She  gave  a  little  sob  that 
had  no  immediate  relation  to  tears.  "Surely  —  surely 
—  not!"  It  was  of  no  use;  understanding  came,  and 
came  clearly,  pitilessly.  Many  things  —  trifles,  all  of 
them  —  to  which  she  had  given  no  thought  at  the  time, 
or  which  she  had  forgotten  immediately,  came  back  to 
her  of  their  own  accord;  things  she  tried  not  to  remember. 

The  cow  stared  at  her  for  a  minute,  and,  when  she 
made  no  hostile  move,  turned  its  attention  back  to  its 
bereavement.  Once  again  it  thrust  its  moist  muzzle 
between  two  rails,  gave  a  preliminary,  vibrant  mmm  — 
mmmmm  —  m,  and  then,  with  a  spasmodic  heaving  of 
ribs  and  of  flank,  burst  into  a  long-drawn  baww  —  aw  — 
aw  —  aw,  which  rose  rapidly  in  a  tremulous  crescendo 
and  died  to  a  throaty  rumbling. 

Val  started  nervously,  though  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 


VAL'S    DISCOVERY  249 

the  cow  and  she  knew  the  sound  was  coming.  It  served, 
however,  to  release  her  from  the  spell  of  horror  which 
had  gripped  her.  She  was  still  white,  and  when  she 
moved  she  felt  intolerably  heavy,  so  that  her  feet  dragged; 
but  she  was  no  longer  dazed.  She  went  slowly  around 
to  the  gate,  reached  up  wearily  and  undid  the  chain 
fastening,  opened  the  gate  slightly,  and  went  in. 

Four  of  the  calves  were  huddled  together  for  mutual 
comfort  in  a  corner.  They  were  blatting  indefatigably. 
Val  went  over  to  where  the  fifth  one  still  stood  beside  the 
fence,  as  near  the  cow  as  it  could  get,  and  threw  a  small 
stone,  that  bounced  off  the  calf's  rump.  The  calf  jumped 
and  ran  aimlessly  before  her  until  it  reached  the  half- 
open  gate,  when  it  dodged  out,  as  if  it  could  scarcely 
believe  its  own  good  fortune.  Before  Val  could  follow 
it  outside,  it  was  nuzzling  rapturously  its  mother,  and 
the  cow  was  contorting  her  body  so  that  she  could  caress 
her  offspring  with  her  tongue,  while  she  rumbled  her 
satisfaction. 

Val  closed  and  fastened  the  gate  carefully,  and  went 
back  to  where  the  cow  still  lingered.  With  her  lips  drawn 
to  a  thin,  colorless  line,  she  drove  her  across  the  coulee 
and  up  the  hill,  the  calf  gamboling  close  alongside.  When 
they  had  gone  out  of  sight,  up  on  the  level,  Val  turned 
back  and  went  slowly  to  the  house.  She  stood  for  a 
minute  staring  stupidly  at  it  and  at  the  coulee,  went  in 


250  LONESOME    LAND 

and  gazed  around  her  with  that  blankness  which  follows 
a  great  mental  shock.  After  a  minute  she  shivered, 
threw  up  her  hands  before  her  face,  and  dropped,  a 
pitiful,  sorrowing  heap  of  quivering  rebellion,  upon  the 
couch. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


POLYCARP  JENKS  came  ambling  into  the  coulee, 
rapped  perfunctorily  upon  the  door-casing,  and 
entered  the  kitchen  as  one  who  feels  perfectly  at  home, 
and  sure  of  his  welcome;  as  was  not  unfitting,  consid- 
ering the  fact  that  he  had  "chored  around"  for  Val 
during  the  last  year,  and  longer. 

"Anybody  to  home?"  he  called,  seeing  the  front  door 
shut  tight. 

There  was  a  stir  within,  and  Val,  still  pale,  and  with 
an  almost  furtive  expression  in  her  eyes,  opened  the  door 
and  looked  out. 

"Oh,  it 's  you,  Poly  carp,"  she  said  lifelessly.  "Is  there 
anything  —  " 

"What 's  the  matter?  Sick?  You  look  kinda  peaked 
and  frazzled  out.  I  met  Man  las'  night,  and  he  told  me 
you  needed  wood;  I  thought  I  'd  ride  over  and  see.  By 
granny,  you  do  look  bad." 

"Just  a  headache,"  Val  evaded,  shrinking  back  guiltily. 
"Just  do  whatever  there  is  to  do,  Polycarp.    I  think  — 


252  LONESOME    LAND 

I  don't  believe  the  chickens  have  had  anything  to  eat 
to-day  —  " 

"Them  headaches  are  sure  a  fright;  they're  might' 
nigh  as  bad  as  rheumatiz,  when  they  hit  you  hard.  You 
jest  go  back  and  lay  down,  and  I  '11  look  around  and  see 
what  they  is  to  do.    Any  idee  when  Man  's  comin'  back?  " 

"No."  Val  brought  the  word  out  with  an  involuntary 
sharpness. 

"No,  I  reckon  not.  I  hear  him  and  Fred  De  Garmo 
come  might'  near  havin'  a  fight  las'  night.  Blumenthal 
was  tellin'  me  this  mornin'.  Fred  's  quit  the  Double 
Diamond,  I  hear.  He 's  got  himself  appointed  dep'ty 
stock  inspector  —  and  how  he  managed  to  git  the  job  is 
more  'n  I  can  figure  out.  They  say  he  's  all  swelled  up  over 
it  —  got  his  headquarters  in  town,  you  know,  and  seems 
he  got  to  lordin'  it  over  Man  las'  night,  and  I  guess  if 
somebody  had  n't  stopped  'em  they  'd  of  been  a  mix-up, 
all  right.  Man  was  n't  in  no  shape  to  fight  —  he  'd  been 
drinkin'  pretty  —  " 

"Yes  —  well,  just  do  whatever  there  is  to  do,  Polycarp. 
The  horses  are  in  the  upper  pasture,  I  think  —  if  you 
want  to  haul  wood."  She  closed  the  door  —  gently, 
but  with  exceeding  firmness,  and  Polycarp  took  the  hint. 

"Women  is  queer,"  he  muttered,  as  he  left  the  house. 
"Now,  she  knows  Man  drinks  like  a  fish  —  and  she  knows 
everybody  else  knows  it  —  but  if  you  so  much  as  mention 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  253 

sech  a  thing,  why  —  "  He  waggled  his  head  disapprov- 
ingly and  proceeded,  in  his  habitually  laborious  manner, 
to  take  a  chew  of  tobacco.  "No  matter  how  much  they 
may  know  a  thing  is  so,  if  it  don^t  suit  'em  you  can't  never 
git  'em  to  stand  right  up  and  face  it  out  —  seems  like, 
by  granny,  it  comes  natural  to  'em  to  make  believe  things 
is  different.  Now,  she  knows  might'  well  she  can't  fool 
me.    I  've  hearn  Man  swear  at  her  like  —  " 

He  reached  the  corral,  and  his  insatiable  curiosity 
turned  his  thoughts  into  a  different  channel.  He  inspected 
the  four  calves  gravely,  wondered  audibly  where  Man 
had  found  them,  and  how  the  round-up  came  to  miss 
them,  and  criticized  his  application  of  the  brand;  in  the 
opinion  of  Polycarp,  Manley  either  burned  too  deep  or 
not  deep  enough. 

"Time  that  line-backed  heifer  scabs  off,  you  can't  tell 
what 's  on  her,"  he  asserted,  expectorating  solemnly 
before  he  turned  away  to  his  work. 

From  a  window,  Val  watched  him  with  cold  terror. 
Would  he  suspect?  Or  was  there  anything  to  suspect? 
"It's  silly  —  it's  perfectly  idiotic,"  she  told  herself  im- 
patiently; "but  if  he  hangs  around  that  corral  another 
minute,  I  shall  scream!"  She  watched  until  she  saw  him 
mount  his  horse  and  ride  off  toward  the  upper  pasture. 
Then  she  went  out  and  began  apathetically  picking  seed 
pods  off  her  sweet-peas,  which  the  early  frosts  had  spared. 


254  LONESOME    LAND 

"Head  better?"  called  Polycarp,  half  an  hour  later, 
when  he  went  rattling  past  the  house  with  the  wagon, 
bound  for  the  river  bottom  where  they  got  their  supply 
of  wood. 

"A  little,"  Val  answered  inattentively,  without  look- 
ing at  him. 

It  was  while  Polycarp  was  after  the  wood,  and  while 
she  was  sitting  upon  the  edge  of  the  porch,  listlessly 
arranging  and  rearranging  a  handful  of  long-stemmed 
blossoms,  that  Kent  galloped  down  the  hill  and  up  to  the 
gate.  She  saw  him  coming  and  set  her  teeth  hard  to- 
gether. She  did  not  want  to  see  Kent  just  then;  she  did 
not  want  to  see  anybody. 

Kent,  however,  wanted  to  see  her.  It  seemed  to  him  at 
least  a  month  since  he  had  had  a  glimpse  of  her,  though  it 
was  no  more  than  half  that  time.  He  watched  her  cov- 
ertly while  he  came  up  the  path.  His  mind,  all  the  way 
over  from  the  Wishbone,  had  been  very  clear  and  very 
decided.  He  had  a  certain  thing  to  tell  her,  and  a  certain 
thing  to  do;  he  had  thought  it  all  out  during  the  nights 
when  he  could  not  sleep  and  the  days  when  men  called 
him  surly,  and  there  was  no  going  back,  no  reconsid- 
eration of  the  matter.  He  had  been  teUing  himself 
that,  over  and  over,  ever  since  the  house  came  into 
view  and  he  saw  her  sitting  there  on  the  porch.  She 
would  probably  want  to  argue,  and  perhaps  she  would 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  ^55 

try  to  persuade  him,  but  it  would  be  absolutely  useless; 
absolutely. 

"Well,  hello!"  he  cried,  with  more  than  his  usual 
buoyancy  of  manner  —  because  he  knew  he  must  hurt 
her  later  on.  "Hello,  Madam  Author^^^.  Why  this 
haughty  air?  This  stuckupiness?  Shall  I  get  a  ladder 
and  climb  up  where  you  can  hear  me  say  howdy?"  He 
took  off  his  hat  and  slapped  her  gently  upon  the  top  of 
her  head  with  it.     "Come  out  of  the  fog!" 

"Oh  —  I  wish  you  wouldn't!"  She  glanced  up  at 
him  so  briefly  that  he  caught  only  a  flicker  of  her  yellow- 
brown  eyes,  and  went  on  fumbling  her  flowers.  Kent 
stood  and  looked  down  at  her  for  a  moment. 

"Mad?"  he  inquired  cheerfully.  "Say,  you  look 
awfully  savage.  On  the  dead,  you  do.  What  do  you 
care  if  they  sent  it  back?  You  had  all  the  fun  of  writing 
it  —  and  you  know  it 's  a  dandy.  Please  smile.  Pretty 
please!"  he  wheedled.  It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had 
discovered  her  in  a  despondent  mood,  nor  the  first  time 
he  had  bantered  and  badgered  her  out  of  her  gloom. 
Presently  it  dawned  upon  him  that  this  was  more  serious; 
he  had  never  seen  her  quite  so  colorless  or  so  completely 
without  spirit. 

"Sick,  pal?"  he  asked  gently,  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"No-o  —  I  suppose  not."  Val  bit  her  lips,  as  soon  as 
she  had  spoken,  to  check  their  quivering. 


256  LONESOME    LAND 

"Well,  what  is  it?  I  wish  you  'd  tell  me.  I  came  over 
here  full  of  something  I  had  to  tell  you  —  but  I  can^t, 
now;  not  while  you  're  like  this."  He  watched  her 
yearningly. 

"Oh,  I  can't  tell  you.  It's  nothing."  Val  jerked  a 
sweet-pea  viciously  from  its  stem,  pressed  her  hand 
against  her  mouth,  and  turned  reluctantly  toward  him. 
"What  was  it  you  came  to  tell  me?" 

He  watched  her  narrowly.  "  I  '11  gamble  you  're  down 
in  the  mouth  about  something  hubby  has  said  or  done. 
You  need  n't  tell  me  —  but  I  just  want  to  ask  you  if  you 
think  it 's  worth  while?  You  need  n't  tell  me  that,  either. 
You  know  blamed  well  it  ain't.  He  can't  deal  you  any 
more  misery  than  you  let  him  hand  out;  you  want  to 
keep  that  in  mind." 

Another  blossom  was  demolished.  "What  was  it  you 
came  to  tell  me?"  she  repeated  steadily,  though  she  did 
not  look  at  him. 

"Oh,  nothing  much.  I  'm  going  to  leave  the  country, 
is  all." 

"Kent!"  After  a  minute  she  forced  another  word  out. 
"Why?" 

Kent  regarded  her  somberly.  "You  better  think  twice 
before  you  ask  me  that,"  he  warned;  "because  I  ain't 
much  good  at  beating  all  around  the  bush.  If  you  ask 
me  again,  I  '11  tell  you  —  and  I  'm  liable  to  tell  you 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  257 

without  any  frills."    He  drew  a  hard  breath.     "So  I  'd 
advise  you  not  to  ask,"  he  finished,  half  challengingly. 

Val  placed  a  pale  lavender  blossom  against  a  creamy 
white  one,  and  held  the  two  up  for  inspection. 

"When  are  you  going?"  she  asked  evenly. 

"I  don't  know  exactly  —  in  a  day  or  so.  Saturday, 
maybe." 

She  hesitated  over  the  flowers  in  her  lap,  and  selected 
a  pink  one,  which  she  tried  with  the  white  and  the  lavender. 

"And  —  why  are  you  going?  "  she  asked  him  deliberately. 

Kent  stared  at  her  fixedly.  A  faint,  pink  flush  was 
creeping  into  her  cheeks.  He  watched  it  deepen,  and 
knew  that  his  silence  was  filling  her  with  uneasiness. 
He  wondered  how  much  she  guessed  of  what  he  was 
going  to  say,  and  how  much  it  would  mean  to  her. 

"All  right  —  I'll  tell  you  why,  fast  enough."  His 
tone  was  grim.  "  I  'm  going  to  leave  the  country  be- 
cause I  can't  stay  any  longer  —  not  while  you  're  in  it." 

"Why  —  Kent!"     She  seemed  inexpressibly  shocked. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  went  on  relentlessly,  "what  you 
think  a  man 's  made  of,  anyhow.  And  I  don't  know 
what  you  think  of  this  pal  business;  I  know  what  I  think: 
It 's  a  mighty  good  way  to  drive  a  man  crazy.  I  've 
had  about  all  of  it  I  can  stand,  if  you  want  to 
know." 
^   "I'm  sorry,  if  you  don't  —  if  you  cau't  be  friends 


258  LONESOME    LAND 

any  longer,"  she  said,  and  he  winced  to  see  how  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  "But,  of  course,  if  you  can't  —  if  it 
bores  you  — " 

Kent  seized  her  arm,  a  bit  roughly.  "Have  I  got  to 
come  right  out  and  tell  you,  in  plain  English,  that  I  — 
that  it 's  because  I  'm  so  deep  in  love  with  you  I  can't. 
If  you  only  knew  what  it 's  cost  me  this  last  year  —  to 
play  the  game  and  not  play  it  too  hard!  What  do  you 
think  a  man  's  made  of?  Do  you  think  a  man  can  care 
for  a  woman,  like  I  care  for  you,  and  —  Do  you  think 
he  wants  to  be  just  pals?  And  stand  back  and  watch 
some  drunken  brute  abuse  her  —  and  never —  Here!" 
His  voice  grew  tender.  "Don't  do  that  —  don't!  I 
did  n't  want  to  hurt  you  —  God  knows  I  did  n't  want 
to  hurt  you!"  He  threw  his  arm  around  her  shoulders 
and  pulled  her  toward  him. 

"Don't  —  pal.  I  'm  a  brute,  I  guess,  like  all  the  rest 
of  the  male  humans.  I  don't  mean  to  be  —  it 's  the  way 
I  'm  made.  When  a  woman  means  so  much  to  me  that 
I  can't  think  of  anything  else,  day  or  night,  and  get  to 
counting  days  and  scheming  to  see  her  —  why  —  being 
friends  —  like  we  've  been  —  is  like  giving  a  man  a  tea- 
spoon of  milk  and  water  when  he  's  starving  to  death, 
and  thinking  that  oughta  do.  But  I  should  n't  have 
let  it  hurt  you.  I  tried  to  stand  for  it,  little  woman. 
There  were  times  when  I  just  had  to  fight  myself  not 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  259 

to  take  you  up  in  my  arms  and  carry  you  off  and  keep 
you.  You  must  admit,"  he  argued,  smiling  rather  wanly, 
"that,  considering  how  I  Ve  felt  about  it,  I  Ve  done 
pretty  tolerable  well  up  till  now.  You  don't  —  you 
never  will  know  how  much  it 's  cost.  Why,  my  nerves 
are  getting  so  raw  I  can't  stand  anything  any  more. 
That 's  why  I  'm  going.  I  don't  want  to  hang  around 
till  I  do  something  —  foolish." 

He  took  his  arm  away  from  her  shoulders  and  moved 
farther  off;  he  was  not  sure  how  far  he  might  trust 
himself. 

"If  I  thought  you  cared  —  or  if  there  was  anything 
I  could  do  for  you,"  he  ventured,  after  a  moment,  "why, 
it  would  be  different.    But  — " 

Val  lifted  her  head  and  turned  to  him. 

"There  is  something  —  or  there  was  —  or  —  oh,  I 
can't  think  any  more!  I  suppose"  —  doubtfully  —  "if 
you  feel  as  you  say  you  do,  why  —  it  would  be  —  wicked 
to  stay.    But  you  don't;  you  must  just  imagine  it." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  Kent  interpolated  ironically. 

"But  if  you  go  away  — "  She  got  up  and  stood  before 
him,  breathing  unevenly,  in  Uttle  gasps.  "  Oh,  you  must  n't 
go  away!  Please  don't  go!  I  —  there's  something 
terrible  happened  —  oh,  Kent,  I  need  you!  I  can't  tell 
you  what  it  is  —  it 's  the  most  horrible  thing  I  ever  heard 
of!    You  can't  imagine  anything  more  horrible,  Kent!" 


260  LONESOME    LAND 

She  twisted  her  fingers  together  nervously,  and  the  blos- 
soms dropped,  one  by  one,  on  the  ground.  "If  you  go," 
she  pleaded,  "I  won't  have  a  friend  in  the  country,  not 
a  real  friend.  And  —  and  I  never  needed  a  friend  as 
much  as  I  do  now,  and  you  must  n't  go.  I  —  I  can't 
let  you  go!"  It  was  like  her  hysterical  fear  of  being  left 
alone  after  the  fire. 

Kent  eyed  her  keenly.  He  knew  there  must  have  been 
something  to  put  her  into  this  state  —  something  more 
than  his  own  rebellion.  He  felt  suddenly  ashamed  of 
his  weakness  in  giving  way  —  in  telling  her  how  it  was 
with  him.  The  faint,  far-off  chuckle  of  a  wagon  came 
to  his  ears.  He  turned  impatiently  toward  the  sound. 
Polycarp  was  driving  up  the  coulee  with  a  load  of  wood; 
already  he  was  nearing  the  gate  which  opened  into  the 
lower  field.  Kent  stood  up,  reached  out,  and  caught 
Val  by  the  hand. 

"Come  on  into  the  house,"  he  said  peremptorily. 
"  Polly  's  coming,  and  you  don't  want  him  goggling  and 
listening.  And  I  want  you,"  he  added,  when  he  had  led 
her  inside  and  closed  the  door,  "to  tell  me  what  all  this 
is  about.  There 's  something,  and  I  want  to  know  what. 
If  it  concerns  you,  then  it  concerns  me  a  whole  lot,  too. 
And  what  concerns  me  I  'm  going  to  find  out  about  — 
what  is  it?" 

Val  sat  down,  got  up  immediately,  and  crossed  the 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  261 

room  aimlessly  to  sit  in  another  chair.  She  pressed  her 
palms  tightly  against  both  cheeks,  drew  in  her  breath 
as  if  she  were  going  to  speak,  and,  after  all,  said  nothing. 
She  looked  out  of  the  window,  pushing  back  the  errant 
strand  of  hair. 

"I  can't  —  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,"  she  began 
desperately.    "It's  too  horrible." 

"Maybe  it  is  —  I  don't  know  what  you'd  call  too 
horrible;  I  kinda  think  it  would  n't  be  what  I  'd  tack 
those  words  to.  Anyway  —  what  is  it?"  He  went  close, 
and  he  spoke  insistently. 

She  took  a  long  breath. 

"Manley 's  a  thief!"  She  jerked  the  words  out  like 
an  automaton.  They  were  not,  evidently,  the  words 
she  had  meant  to  speak,  for  she  seemed  frightened 
afterward. 

"Oh,  that 's  it!"  Kent  made  a  sound  which  was  not 
far  from  a  snort.  "Well,  what  about  it?  What's  he 
done?    How  did  you  find  it  out?" 

Val  straightened  in  the  chair  and  gazed  up  at  him. 
Once  more  her  tawny  eyes  gave  him  a  certain  shock,  as 
if  he  had  never  before  noticed  them. 

"After  all  our  neighbors  have  done  for  him,"  she  cried 
bitterly;  "after  giving  him  hay,  when  his  was  burned 
and  he  could  n't  buy  any;  after  building  stables,  and 
corral,  and  —  everything  they  did  — the  kindest,  best 


262  LONESOME    LAND 

neighbors  a  man  ever  had  —  oh,  it 's  too  shameful  for 
utterance!  I  might  forgive  it  —  I  might,  only  for  that. 
The  —  the  ingratitude!    It 's  too  despicable  —  too  — " 

Kent  laid  a  steadying  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"Yes  —  but  what  is  it?"  he  interrupted. 

Val  shook  off  his  hand  unconsciously,  impatient  of 
any  touch. 

"Oh,  the  bare  deed  itself  —  well,  it's  rather  petty, 
too  —  and  cheap."  Her  voice  became  full  of  contempt. 
"It  was  the  calves.  He  brought  home  B.ve  last  night  — 
five  that  had  n't  been  branded  last  spring.  Where  he 
found  them  I  don't  know  —  I  did  n't  care  enough  about 
it  to  ask.  He  had  been  drinking,  I  think;  I  can  usually 
tell  —  and  he  often  carries  a  bottle  in  his  pocket,  as  I 
happen  to  know. 

"  Well,  he  had  me  make  a  fire  and  heat  the  iron  for  him, 
and  he  branded  them  —  last  night;  he  was  very  touchy 
about  it  when  I  asked  him  what  was  his  hurry.  I  think 
now  it  was  a  stupid  thing  for  him  to  do.  And  —  well, 
in  the  night,  some  time,  I  heard  a  cow  bawling  around 
close,  and  this  morning  I  went  out  to  drive  her  away; 
the  fence  is  always  down  somewhere  —  I  suppose  she 
found  a  place  to  get  through.  So  I  went  out  to  drive  her 
away."  Her  eyes  dropped,  as  if  she  were  making  a  con- 
fession of  her  own  misdeed.  She  clenched  her  hands 
tightly  in  her  lap. 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  263 

"Well  —  it  was  a  Wishbone  cow."  After  all,  she  said 
it  very  quietly. 

"The  devil  it  was!"  Kent  had  been  prepared  for 
something  of  the  sort;  but,  nevertheless,  he  started  when 
he  heard  his  own  outfit  mentioned. 

"Yes.  It  was  a  Wishbone  cow."  Her  voice  was  flat 
and  monotonous.  "He  had  stolen  her  calf.  He  had  it 
in  the  corral,  and  he  had  branded  it  with  his  own  brand  — 
with  a  VP.  With  my  initials!  "  she  wailed  suddenly,  as 
if  the  thought  had  just  struck  her,  and  was  intolerably 
bitter.  "She  had  followed  —  had  been  hunting  her  calf; 
it  was  rather  a  little  calf,  smaller  than  the  others.  And 
it  was  crowded  up  against  the  fence,  trying  to  get  to  her. 
There  was  no  mistaking  their  relationship.  I  tried  to 
think  he  had  made  a  mistake;  but  it  ^s  of  no  use  —  I 
know  he  did  n't.  I  know  he  stole  that  calf.  And  for  all 
I  know,  the  others,  too.  Oh,  it 's  perfectly  horrible  to 
think  of!" 

Kent  could  easily  guess  her  horror  of  it,  and  he  was 
sorry  for  her.  But  his  mind  turned  instantly  to  the 
practical  side  of  it. 

"Well  —  maybe  it  can  be  fixed  up,  if  you  feel  so  bad 
about  it.  Does  Polycarp  —  did  he  see  the  cow  hanging 
around?" 

Val  shook  her  head  apathetically.  "No  —  he  didn't 
come  till  just  a  little  while  ago.    That  was  this  morning. 


264  LONESOME    LAND 

And  I  drove  her  out  of  the  coulee  —  her  and  her  calf. 
They  went  off  up  over  the  hill." 

Kent  stood  looking  down  at  her  rather  stupidly. 

"You  —  what?  What  was  it  you  did?"  It  seemed 
to  him  that  something  —  some  vital  point  of  the  story  — 
had  eluded  him. 

"I  drove  them  away.  I  didn't  think  they  ought  to 
be  permitted  to  hang  around  here."  Her  lips  quivered 
again.  "I  —  I  didn't  want  to  see  him  —  get  —  into 
any  trouble." 

"You  drove  them  away?  Both  of  them?"  Kent  was 
frowning  at  her  now. 

Val  sprang  up  and  faced  him,  all  a-tremble  with  indig- 
nation. "Certainly,  both!  I^m  not  a  thief,  Kent  Bur- 
nett! When  I  knew  —  when  there  was  no  possible  doubt 
—  why,  what,  in  Heaven's  name,  could  I  do?  It  was  n't 
Manley's  calf.  I  turned  it  loose  to  go  back  where  it 
belonged." 

"With  a  VP  on  its  ribs!"  Kent  was  staring  at  her 
curiously. 

"Well,  I  don't  care!  Fifty  VP's  couldn't  make  the 
calf  Manley's.  If  anybody  came  and  saw  that  cow, 
why — "  Val  looked  at  him  rather  pityingly,  as  if  she 
could  not  quite  understand  how  he  could  even  question 
her  upon  that  point.  "And,  after  all,"  she  added  for- 
lornly, "he's  my  husband.     I  couldn't  —  I  had  to  do 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  265 

what  I  could  to  shield  him  —  just  for  sake  of  the  past, 
I  suppose.  Much  as  I  despise  him,  I  can't  forget  that 
—  that  I  cared  once.  It 's  because  I  wanted  your 
advice  that  I  — " 

"It's  a  pity  you  didn't  get  it  sooner,  then!  Can't 
you  see  what  you've  done?  Why,  think  a  minute!  A 
VP  calf  running  with  a  Wishbone  cow  —  why,  it 's  — 
you  could  n't  advertise  Man  as  a  rustler  any  better  if 
you  tried.  The  first  fellow  that  runs  onto  that  cow  and 
calf  —  well,  he  won't  need  to  do  any  guessing  —  he  '11 
know.  It 's  a  ticket  to  Deer  Lodge  —  that  VP  calf.  Now 
do  you  see?"  He  turned  away  to  the  window  and  stood 
looking  absently  at  the  brown  hillside,  his  hands  thrust 
deep  into  his  pockets. 

"And  there  's  Fred  De  Garmo,  with  his  new  job,  rang- 
ing around  the  country  just  aching  to  cinch  somebody 
and  show  his  authority.  It 's  a  matter  of  days  almost. 
He  'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  get  a  whack  at  Man, 
even  if  the  Wishbone  — " 

Outside,  they  could  hear  Polycarp  throwing  the  wood 
off  the  wagon;  knowing  him  as  they  did,  they  knew  it 
would  not  be  long  before  he  found  an  excuse  for  coming 
into  the  house.  He  had  more  than  once  evinced  a  good 
deal  of  interest  in  Kent's  visits  there,  and  shown  an  un- 
mistakable desire  to  know  what  they  were  talking  about. 
They  had  never  paid  much  attention  to  him;   but  now 


266  LONESOME    LAND 

even  Val  felt  a  vague  uneasiness  lest  he  overhear.  She 
had  been  sitting,  her  face  buried  in  her  arms,  crushed 
beneath  the  knowledge  of  what  she  had  done. 

"Don't  worry,  little  woman."  Kent  went  over  and 
passed  his  hand  lightly  over  her  hair.  "You  did  what 
looked  to  you  to  be  the  right  thing  —  the  honest  thing. 
And  the  chances  are  he  'd  get  caught  before  long,  any- 
how.   I  don't  reckon  this  is  the  first  time  he  's  done  it." 

"Oh-h  —  but  to  think  —  to  think  that  I  should  do 
it  —  when  I  wanted  to  save  him!  He  —  Kent,  I  despise 
him  —  he  has  killed  all  the  love  I  ever  felt  for  him  — 
killed  it  over  and  over  —  but  if  anybody  finds  that  calf, 
and  —  and  if  they  —  Kent,  I  shall  go  crazy  if  I  have  to 
feel  that  /  sent  him  —  to  —  prison.  To  think  of  him 
—  shut  up  there  —  and  to  know  that  I  did  it  —  I  can't 
bear  it!"  She  caught  his  arm.  She  pressed  her  forehead 
against  it.  "Kent,  is  n't  there  some  way  to  get  it  back? 
If  I  should  find  it  —  and  —  and  shoot  it  —  and  pay  the 
Wishbone  what  it 's  worth  —  oh,  any  amount  —  or 
shoot  the  cow  —  or — "she  raised  her  face  imploringly 
to  his —  "tell  me,  pal  —  or  I  shall  go  stark,  raving 
mad!" 

Polycarp  came  into  the  kitchen,  and,  from  the  sound, 
he  was  trying  to  enter  as  unobtrusively  as  possible,  even 
to  the  extent  of  walking  on  his  toes. 

"Go  see  what  that  darned  old  sneak  wants,"  Kent 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  267 

commanded  in  an  undertone.  "Act  as  if  nothing  hap- 
pened —  if  you  can."  He  watched  anxiously,  while  she 
drew  a  long  breath,  pressed  her  hands  hard  against  her 
cheeks,  closed  her  lips  tightly,  and  then,  with  something 
like  composure,  went  quietly  to  the  door  and  threw  it 
open.  Polycarp  was  standing  very  close  to  it,  on  the 
other  side.    He  drew  back  a  step. 

"  I  wondered  if  I  better  git  another  load,  now  I  Ve 
got  the  team  hooked  up,"  he  began  in  his  rasping,  nasal 
voice,  his  sHtlike  eyes  peering  inquisitively  into  the  room. 
"Hello,  Kenneth  —  I  thought  that  was  your  horse  standin' 
outside.  Or  would  you  ruther  I  cut  up  a  pile?  I  dunno 
but  what  I  ^11  have  to  go  t'  town  t'-morrer  or  next  day 
—  mebby  I  better  cut  you  some  wood,  hey?  If  Man 
ain't  likely  to  be  home,  mebby  — " 

"  I  think,  Polycarp,  we  '11  have  a  storm  soon.  So  it 
would  be  good  policy  to  haul  another  load,  don't  you 
think?  I  can  manage  very  well  with  what  there  is  cut 
imtil  Manley  returns;  and  there  are  always  small  branches 
that  I  can  break  easily  with  the  axe.  I  really  think  it 
would  be  safer  to  have  another  load  hauled  now  while 
we  can.  Don't  you  think  so?"  Val  even  managed  to 
smile  at  him.  "  If  my  head  was  n't  so  bad,"  she  added 
deceitfully,  "I  should  be  tempted  to  go  along,  just  for  a 
close  sight  of  the  river.  Mr.  Burnett  is  going  directly  — 
perhaps  I  may  walk  down  later  on.    But  you  had  better 


268  LONESOME    LAND 

not  wait  —  I  shouldn't  want  to  keep  you  working  till 
dark." 

Polycarp,  eying  her  and  Kent,  and  the  room  in  all 
its  details,  forced  his  hand  into  his  trousers  pocket, 
brought  up  his  battered  plug  of  tobacco  and  pried  off  a 
piece,  which  he  rolled  into  his  left  cheek  with  his  tongue. 

"Jest  as  you  say,"  he  surrendered,  though  it  was 
perfectly  plain  that  he  would  much  prefer  to  cut  wood 
and  so  be  able  to  see  all  that  went  on,  even  though  he 
was  denied  the  gratification  of  hearing  what  they  said. 
He  waited  a  moment,  but  Val  turned  away,  and  even 
had  the  audacity  to  close  the  door  upon  his  unfinished 
reply.   He  listened  for  a  moment,  his  head  craned  forward. 

"Purty  kinda  goings-on!"  he  mumbled.  "Time  Man 
had  a  flea  put  in  'is  ear,  by  granny,  if  he  don't  want  to 
lose  that  yeller-eyed  wife  of  hisn."  To  Poly  carp,  a  closed 
door  —  when  a  man  and  woman  were  alone  upon  the 
other  side  —  could  mean  nothing  but  surreptitious  kisses 
and  the  like.  He  went  stumbling  out  and  drove  away 
down  the  coulee,  his  head  turning  automatically  so  that 
his  eyes  were  constantly  upon  the  house;  from  his  attitude, 
as  Kent  saw  him  through  the  window,  Polycarp  expected 
an  explosion,  at  the  very  least.  His  outraged  virtue 
vented  itself  in  one  more  sentence:  "Purty  blamed 
nervy,  by  granny  —  to  go  'n'  shut  the  door  right  in 
m'  face!" 


KENT'S    CONFESSION  269 

Inside  the  room,  Val  stood  for  a  minute  with  her  back 
against  the  door,  as  if  she  half  feared  Polycarp  would 
break  in  and  drag  her  secret  from  her.  When  she  heard 
him  leave  the  kitchen  she  drew  a  long  breath,  eloquent 
in  itself:  when  the  rattle  of  the  wagon  came  to  them 
there,  she  left  the  door  and  went  slowly  across  the  room 
until  she  stood  close  to  Kent.  The  interruption  had 
steadied  them  both.  Her  voice  was  a  constrained  calm 
when  she  spoke. 

"Well  —  is  there  anything  I  can  do?  Because  I  sup- 
pose every  minute  is  dangerous." 

Kent  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  departing  Polycarp. 

"There  's  nothing  you  can  do,  no.  Maybe  I  can  do 
something;  soon  as  that  granny  gossip  is  outa  sight,  I  '11 
go  and  round  up  that  cow  and  calf  —  if  somebody  has  n't 
beaten  me  to  it." 

Val  looked  at  him  with  a  certain  timid  helplessness. 

"Oh!  Will  you  —  won't  it  be  against  the  law  if  you  — 
if  you  kill  it?"  She  grew  slightly  excited  again.  "Kent, 
you  shall  not  get  into  any  trouble  for  —  for  his  sake  I 
If  it  comes  to  a  choice,  why  —  let  him  suffer  for  his  crime. 
You  shall  not  I" 

Kent  turned  his  head  slowly  and  gazed  down  at  her. 
"Don't  run  away  with  the  idea  I  'm  doing  it  for  him,"  he 
told  her  distinctly.  "I  love  Man  Fleetwood  like  I  love  a 
wolf.    But  if  that  VP  calf  catches  him  up,  you  'd  fight 


270  LONESOME    LAND 

your  head  over  it,  God  only  knows  how  long.  I  know 
you!  You  'd  think  so  much  about  the  part  you  played 
that  you  'd  wind  up  by  forgetting  everything  else.  You  'd 
get  to  thinking  of  him  as  a  martyr,  maybe!  No  — 
it  *s  for  you.  I  kinda  got  you  into  this,  you  recollect? 
If  I  'd  let  you  see  Man  drunk,  that  day,  you  'd  never  have 
married  him;  I  know  that  now.  So  I'm  going  to  get 
you  out  of  it.    My  side  of  the  question  can  wait." 

She  stared  up  at  him  with  a  grave  understanding. 

"  But  you  know  what  I  said  —  you  won't  do  anything 
that  can  make  you  trouble  —  won't  you  tell  me,  Kent, 
what  you  're  going  to  do?" 

He  had  already  started  to  the  door,  but  he  stopped 
and  smiled  reassuringly. 

"Nothing  so  fierce.  If  I  can  find  'em,  I  aim  to  bar  out 
thatVP.    Sabe?" 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  BLOTCHED  BKAND 

AT  the  brow  of  the  hill,  which  was  the  western  rim 
of  the  coulee,  Kent  turned  and  waved  a  farewell 
to  Val,  watching  him  wistfully  from  the  kitchen  door. 
She  had  wanted  to  go  along;  she  had  almost  cried  to 
go  and  help,  but  Kent  would  not  permit  her  —  and  be- 
neath the  unpleasantness  of  denying  her  anything,  there 
had  been  a  certain  primitive  joy  in  feeling  himself  master 
of  the  situation  and  of  her  actions;  for  that  one  time  it 
was  as  if  she  belonged  to  him.  At  the  last  he  had  ac- 
cepted the  field  glasses,  which  she  insisted  upon  lending 
him,  and  now  he  was  tempted  to  take  them  from  their 
worn,  leathern  case  and  focus  them  upon  her  face,  just 
for  the  meager  satisfaction  of  one  more  look  at  her.  But 
he  rode  on,  out  of  sight,  for  the  necessity  which  drove 
him  forth  did  not  permit  much  loitering  if  he  would  suc- 
ceed in  what  he  had  set  out  to  do. 

Personally  he  would  have  felt  no  compunctions  what- 
ever about  letting  the  calf  go,  a  walking  advertisement 
of  Manley's  guilt.  It  seemed  to  him  a  sort  of  grim  retribu- 
tion, and  no  more  than  he  deserved.    He  had  not  exagger- 


272  LONESOME    LAND 

ated  his  sentiments  when  he  intimated  plainly  to  her  his 
hatred  of  Manley,  and  he  agreed  with  her  that  the  fellow 
was  making  a  despicable  return  for  the  kindness  his 
neighbors  had  always  shown  him.  No  doubt  he  had 
stolen  from  the  Double  Diamond  as  well  as  the  Wishbone. 

Once  Kent  pulled  up,  half  minded  to  go  back  and  let 
events  shape  themselves  without  any  interference  from 
him.  But  there  was  Val  —  women  were  so  queer  about 
such  things.  It  seemed  to  Kent  that,  if  any  man  had 
caused  him  as  much  misery  as  Manley  had  caused  Val, 
he  would  not  waste  much  time  worrying  over  him,  if  he 
tangled  himself  up  with  his  own  misdeeds.  However, 
Val  wanted  that  bit  of  evidence  covered  up;  so,  while 
Kent  did  not  approve,  he  went  at  the  business  with 
his  customary  thoroughness. 

The  field  glasses  were  a  great  convenience.  More 
than  once  they  saved  him  the  trouble  of  riding  a  mile 
or  so  to  inspect  a  small  bunch  of  stock.  Nevertheless, 
he  rode  for  several  hours  before,  just  at  sundown,  he 
discovered  the  cow  feeding  alone  with  her  calf  in  a  shallow 
depression  near  the  rough  country  next  the  river.  They 
were  wild,  and  he  ran  them  out  of  the  hollow  and  up  on 
high  ground  before  he  managed  to  drop  his  loop  over 
the  calf's  head. 

"You  sure  are  a  dandy-fine  sign-post,  all  right,"  he 
observed,  and  grinned  down  at  the  staring  VP  brand. 


A    BLOTCHED    BRAND         27S 

"It's  a  pity  you  can't  be  left  that  way."  He  glanced 
cautiously  around  him  at  the  great,  empty  prairie.  A 
mile  or  two  away,  a  lone  horseman  was  loping  leisurely 
along,  evidently  bound  for  the  Double  Diamond. 

"Say  —  this  is  kinda  public,"  Kent  complained  to 
the  calf.  "Let 's  you  and  me  go  down  outa  sight  for  a 
minute."  He  started  off  toward  the  hollow,  dragging 
the  calf,  a  protesting  bundle  of  stiffened  muscles  pulling 
against  the  rope.  The  cow,  shaking  her  head  in  a  half- 
hearted defiance,  followed.  Kent  kept  an  uneasy  eye 
upon  the  horseman,  and  hoped  fervently  the  fellow  was 
absorbed  in  meditation  and  would  not  glance  in  his 
direction.  Once  he  was  almost  at  the  point  of  turning 
the  calf  loose;  for  barring  out  brands,  even  illegal  brands, 
is  justly  looked  upon  with  disfavor,  to  say  the  least. 

Down  in  the  hollow,  which  Kent  reached  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  he  dismounted  and  hastily  started  a  little  fire 
on  a  barren  patch  of  ground  beneath  a  jutting  sandstone 
ledge.  The  calf,  tied  helpless,  lay  near  by,  and  the  cow 
hovered  close,  uneasy,  but  lacking  courage  for  a  rush. 

Kent  laid  hand  upon  his  saddle,  hesitated,  and  shook 
his  head;  he  might  need  it  in  a  hurry,  and  a  cinch  ring 
takes  time  both  in  the  removal  and  the  replacement  — 
and  is  vitally  important  withal.  His  knife  he  had  lost 
on  the  last  round-up.  He  scowled  at  the  necessity,  lifted 
his  heel,  and  took  off  a  spur.     "And  if  that  darned 


274  LONESOME    LAND 

ginny  don't  get  too  blamed  curious  and  come  fogging 
over  this  way — "  He  spoke  the  phrase  aloud,  out  of 
the  middle  of  a  mental  arrangement  of  the  chance  he 
was  taking. 

To  heat  the  spur  red-hot,  draw  it  across  the  fresh  VP 
again  and  again,  and  finally  drag  it  crisscross  once  or 
twice  to  make  assurance  an  absolute  certainty,  did  not 
take  long.  Kent  was  particular  about  not  wasting  any 
seconds.  The  calf  stopped  its  dismal  blatting,  and  when 
Kent  released  it  and  coiled  his  rope,  it  jumped  up  and 
ran  for  its  life,  the  cow  ambling  solicitously  at  its  heels. 
Kent  kicked  the  dirt  over  the  fire,  eyed  it  sharply  a  mo- 
ment to  make  sure  it  was  perfectly  harmless,  mounted 
in  haste,  and  rode  up  the  sloping  side  down  which  he 
had  come.  Just  under  the  top  of  the  slope,  he  peered 
anxiously  out  over  the  prairie,  ducked  precipitately,  and 
went  clattering  away  down  the  hollow  to  the  farther 
side;  dodged  around  a  spur  of  rocks,  forced  his  horse 
down  over  a  wicked  jumble  of  bowlders  to  level  land 
below,  and  rode  as  if  a  hangman's  noose  were  the  penalty 
for  delay. 

When  he  reached  the  river  —  which  he  did  after  many 
windings  and  turnings  —  he  got  off  and  washed  his  spur, 
scrubbing  it  diligently  with  sand  in  an  effort  to  remove 
the  traces  of  fire.  When  the  evidence  was  at  least  less 
conspicuous,  he  put  it  on  his  heel  and  jogged  down  the 


To  draw  the  red  hot  spur  across  the  fresh  VP  did  not  take  long 

Page  274. 


A    BLOTCHED    BRAND         275 

river  bank  quite  innocently,  inwardly  thankful  over  his 
escape.  He  had  certainly  done  nothing  wrong;  but  one 
sometimes  finds  it  rather  awkward  to  be  forced  into  an 
explanation  of  a  perfectly  righteous  deed. 

"  If  I  'd  been  stealing  that  calf,  I  'd  never  have  been 
crazy  enough  to  take  such  a  long  chance,"  he  mused,  and 
laughed  a  little.  "  I  '11  bet  Fred  thought  he  was  due  to 
grab  a  rustler  right  in  the  act  —  only  he  was  a  little  bit 
slow  about  making  up  his  mind;  deputy  stock  inspec- 
tors had  oughta  think  quicker  than  that  —  he  was  just 
about  five  minutes  too  dehberate.  I  '11  gamble  he 's 
scratching  his  head,  right  now,  over  that  blotched  brand, 
trying  to  sahe  the  play  —  which  he  won't,  not  in  a  thou- 
sand years!" 

He  gave  the  reins  a  twitch  and  began  to  climb  through 
the  dusk  to  the  lighter  hilltop,  at  a  point  just  east  of 
Cold  Spring  Coulee.  At  the  top  he  put  the  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  headed  straight  as  might  be  for  the  Wishbone 
ranch.  He  would  like  to  have  told  Val  of  his  success, 
but  he  was  afraid  Manley  might  be  there,  or  Poly  carp; 
it  was  wise  always  to  avoid  Polycarp  Jenks,  if  one  had 
anything  to  conceal  from  his  fellows. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

VAL  DECIDES 

IT  was  the  middle  of  the  next  forenoon  when  Manley 
came  riding  home,  sullen  from  drink  and  a  losing  game 
of  poker,  which  had  kept  him  all  night  at  the  table,  and 
at  sunrise  sent  him  forth  in  the  mood  which  meets  a 
grievance  more  than  half-way.  He  did  not  stop  at  the 
house,  though  he  saw  Val  through  the  open  door;  he 
did  not  trouble  to  speak  to  her,  even,  but  rode  on  to  the 
stable,  stopping  at  the  corral  to  look  over  the  fence  at 
the  calves,  still  bawling  sporadically  between  half-hearted 
nibblings  at  the  hay  which  Polycarp  had  thrown  in  to 
them. 

Just  at  first  he  did  not  notice  anything  wrong,  but 
soon  a  vague  disquiet  seized  him,  and  he  frowned  thought- 
fully at  the  little  group.  Something  puzzled  him;  but 
his  brain,  fogged  with  whisky  and  loss  of  sleep,  and  the 
reaction  from  hours  of  concentration  upon  the  game, 
could  not  quite  grasp  the  thing  that  troubled  him.  In 
a  moment,  however,  he  gave  an  inarticulate  bellow, 
wheeled  about,  and  rode  back  to  the  house.    He  threw 


VAL    DECIDES  277 

himself  from  the  horse  almost  before  it  stopped,  and  rushed 
into  the  kitchen.  Val,  ironing  one  of  her  ruflOied  white 
aprons,  looked  up  quickly,  turned  rather  pale,  and  then 
stiffened  perceptibly  for  the  conflict  that  was  coming. 

"There  's  only  four  calves  in  the  corral  —  and  I  brought 
in  five.  Where's  the  other  one?"  He  came  up  and 
stood  quite  close  to  her  —  so  close  that  Val  took  a  step 
backward.  He  did  not  speak  loud,  but  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  tone,  in  his  look,  that  drove  the  little  remain- 
ing color  from  her  face. 

"Manley,"  she  said,  with  a  catch  of  the  breath,  "why 
did  you  do  that  horrible  thing?  What  devil  possessed 
you?    I—" 

"I  asked  you  'where  is  that  other  calf?  Where  is  it? 
There  's  only  four.  I  brought  in  five."  His  very  calmness 
was  terrifying. 

Val  threw  back  her  head,  and  her  eyes  were  —  as  they 
frequently  became  in  moments  of  stress  —  yellow,  in- 
scrutable, like  the  eyes  of  a  Hon  in  a  cage. 

"Yes,  you  brought  in  five.  One  of  the  Bye,  at  least, 
you  —  stole.  You  put  your  brand,  Manley  Fleetwood, 
on  a  calf  that  did  not  belong  to  you;  it  belonged  to  the 
Wishbone,  and  you  know  it.  I  have  learned  many  dis- 
agreeable things  about  you,  Manley,  in  the  past  two  years; 
yesterday  morning  I  learned  that  you  were  a  thief.  Ah-h 
—  I  despise  you  I   Stealing  from  the  very  men  who  helped 


278  LONESOME    LAND 

you  —  the  men  to  whom  you  owe  nothing  but  gratitude 
and  —  and  friendship!  Have  you  no  manhood  whatever? 
Besides  being  weak  and  shiftless,  are  you  a  criminal  as 
well?  How  can  you  be  so  utterly  lacking  in  —  in  common 
decency,  even? "  She  eyed  him  as  she  would  look  at  some 
strange  monster  in  a  museum  about  which  she  was 
rather  curious. 

"  I  asked  you  where  that  other  calf  is  —  and  you  'd 
better  tell  me!"  It  was  the  tone  which  goes  well  with 
a  knife  thrust  or  a  blow.  But  the  contempt  in  Val's  face 
did  not  change. 

"Well,  you  '11  have  to  hunt  for  it  if  you  want  it.  The 
cow  —  a  Wishbone  cow,  mind  you!  —  came  and  claimed 
it;  I  let  her  have  it.  No  stolen  goods  can  remain  on  this 
ranch  with  my  knowledge,  Manley  Fleetwood.  Please 
remember — " 

"Oh,  you  turned  it  out,  did  you?  You  turned  it  out?'* 
He  had  her  by  the  throat,  shaking  her  as  a  puppy  shakes 
a  purloined  shoe.    "  I  could  —  kill  you  for  that ! " 

"Manley!  Ah-h-h — "  It  was  not  pleasant  —  that 
gurgling  cry,  as  she  struggled  to  get  free. 

He  had  the  look  of  a  maniac  as  he  pressed  his  fingers 
into  her  throat  and  glared  down  into  her  purpling  face. 

With  a  sudden  impulse  he  cast  her  limp  form  violently 
from  him.  She  struck  against  a  chair,  fell  from  that 
to  the  floor,  and  lay  a  huddled  heap,  her  crisp,  ruffled 


VAL    DECIDES  279 

skirt  just  giving  a  glimpse  of  tiny,  half-worn  slippers, 
her  yellow  hair  fallen  loose  and  hiding  her  face. 

He  stared  down  at  her,  but  he  felt  no  remorse  —  she 
had  jeopardized  his  liberty,  his  standing  among  men. 
A  cold  horror  caught  him  when  he  thought  of  the  calf 
turned  loose  on  the  range,  his  brand  on  its  ribs.  He 
rushed  in  a  panic  from  the  kitchen,  flung  himself  into 
the  saddle,  and  went  off  across  the  coulee,  whipping 
both  sides  of  his  horse.  She  had  not  told  him  —  indeed, 
he  had  not  asked  her  —  which  way  the  cow  had  gone, 
but  instinctively  he  rode  to  the  west,  the  direction  from 
which  he  had  driven  the  calves.  One  thought  possessed 
him  utterly;  he  must  find  that  calf. 

So  he  rode  here  and  there,  doubling  and  turning  to 
search  every  feeding  herd  he  glimpsed,  fearing  to  face 
the  possibility  of  failure  and  its  inevitable  consequence. 

The  cat  with  the  white  spots  on  its  sides  —  Val  called 
her  Mary  Arabella,  for  some  whimsical  reason  —  came 
into  the  kitchen,  looked  inquiringly  at  the  huddled  figure 
upon  the  floor,  gave  a  faint  mew,  and  went  slowly  up, 
purring  and  arching  her  back;  she  snuffed  a  moment 
at  Val's  hair,  then  settled  herself  in  the  hollow  of  VaFs 
arm,  and  curled  down  for  a  nap.  The  sun,  sliding  up 
to  midday,  shone  straight  in  upon  them  through  the 
open  door. 


280  LONESOME    LAND 

Polycarp  Jenks,  riding  that  way  in  obedience  to  some 
obscure  impulse,  lifted  his  hand  to  give  his  customary 
tap-tap  before  he  walked  in;  saw  Val  lying  there,  and 
almost  fell  headlong  into  the  room  in  his  haste  and  per- 
turbation. It  looked  very  much  as  if  he  had  at  last 
stumbled  upon  the  horrible  tragedy  which  was  his  one 
daydream.  To  be  an  eyewitness  of  a  murder,  and  to  be 
able  to  tell  the  tale  afterward  with  minute,  horrifying 
detail  —  that,  to  Polycarp,  would  make  life  really  worth 
living.  He  shuffled  over  to  Val,  pushed  aside  the  mass 
of  yellow  hair,  turned  her  head  so  that  he  could  look  into 
her  face,  saw  at  once  the  bruised  marks  upon  her  throat, 
and  stood  up  very  straight. 

"Foul  play  has  been  done  here!"  he  exclaimed  melo- 
dramatically, eying  the  cat  sternly.  "Murder  —  that's 
what  it  is,  by  granny  —  a  foul  murder!" 

The  victim  of  the  foul  murder  stirred  slightly.  Poly- 
carp started  and  bent  over  her  again,  somewhat  discon- 
certed, perhaps,  but  more  humanly  anxious. 

"Mis'  Fleetwood  —  Mis'  Fleetwood!  You  hurt?  It's 
Polycarp  Jenks  talkin'  to  you!"  He  hesitated,  pushed 
the  cat  away,  lifted  Val  with  some  difficulty,  and  carried 
her  into  the  front  room  and  deposited  her  on  the  couch. 
Then  he  hurried  after  some  water. 

"  Come  might'  nigh  bein'  a  murder,  by  granny  —  from 
the  marks  on  'er  neck  —  come  might'  nigh,  all  right!" 


VAL    DECIDES  281 

He  sprinkled  water  lavishly  upon  her  face,  bethought 
him  of  a  possible  whisky  flask  in  the  haystack,  and  ran 
every  step  of  the  way  there  and  back.  He  found  a  dis- 
carded bottle  with  a  very  little  left  in  it,  and  forced  the 
liquor  down  her  throat. 

"That  '11  fetch  ye  if  anything  will  —  he-he!"  he  mum- 
bled, tittering  from  sheer  excitement.  Beyond  a  very 
natural  desire  to  do  what  he  could  for  her,  he  was  ex- 
tremely anxious  to  bring  her  to  her  senses,  so  that  he 
could  hear  what  had  happened,  and  how  it  had  happened. 

"  Betche  Man  got  jealous  of  her'n  Kenneth  —  by  granny, 
I  betche  that 's  how  it  come  about  —  hey?  Feelin' 
better.  Mis'  Fleetwood?" 

Val  had  opened  her  eyes  and  was  looking  at  him  rather 
stjipidly.  There  was  a  bruise  upon  her  head,  as  well  as 
upon  her  throat.  She  had  been  stunned,  and  her  wits 
came  back  slowly.  When  she  recognized  Polycarp,  she 
tried  ineffectually  to  sit  up. 

"I  —  he  —  is  —  he  —  gone?"  Her  voice  was  husky, 
her  speech  labored. 

"Man,  you  mean?  He  's  gone,  yes.  Don't  you  be 
af eared  —  not  whilst  I'm  here,  by  granny!  How  came 
it  he  done  this  to  ye?" 

Val  was  still  staring  at  him  bewilderedly.  Polycarp 
repeated  his  question  three  times  before  the  blank  look 
left  her  eyes. 


^2  LONESOME    LAND 

"I  —  turned  the  calf  —  out  —  the  cow  —  came  and 
—  claimed  it  —  Manley — "  She  lifted  her  hand  as  if 
it  were  very,  very  heavy,  and  fumbled  at  her  throat. 
"Manley  —  when  I  told  him  —  he  was  a  —  thief — " 
She  dropped  her  hand  wearily  to  her  side  and  closed  her 
eyes,  as  if  the  sight  of  Polycarp's  face,  so  close  to  hers 
and  so  insatiably  curious  and  eager  and  cunning,  was 
more  than  she  could  bear. 

"Go  away,"  she  commanded,  after  a  minute  or  two. 
"I'm — all  right.  It 's  nothing.  I  fell.  It  was  —  the 
heat.  Thank  you  —  so  much — "  She  opened  her  eyes 
and  saw  him  there  still.  She  looked  at  him  gravely, 
speculatively.  She  waved  her  hand  toward  the  bedroom. 
"Get  me  my  hand  glass  —  in  there  on  the  dresser,"  she 
said. 

When  he  had  tiptoed  in  and  got  it  for  her,  she  lifted 
it  up  slowly,  with  both  hands,  until  she  could  see  her 
throat.  There  were  distinct,  telltale  marks  upon  the 
tender  flesh  —  unmistakable  finger  prints.  She  shivered 
and  dropped  the  glass  to  the  floor.  But  she  stared  steadily 
up  at  Polycarp,  and  after  a  moment  she  spoke  with  a 
certain  fierceness. 

"Polycarp  Jenks,  don't  ever  tell  —  about  those  marks. 
I  —  I  don't  want  any  one  to  know.  When  —  after  a 
while  —  I  want  to  think  first  —  perhaps  you  can  help 
me.    Go  away  now  —  not  away  from  the  ranch,  but  — 


VAL    DECIDES 

let  me  think.     I  *m  all  right  —  or  I  will  be.     Please 

go- 

Polycarp  recognized  that  tone,  however  it  might  be 
hoarsened  by  bruised  muscles  and  the  shock  of  what  she 
had  suffered.  He  recognized  also  that  look  in  her  eyes; 
he  had  always  obeyed  that  look  and  that  tone  —  he 
obeyed  them  now,  though  with  visible  reluctance.  He 
sat  down  in  the  kitchen  to  wait,  and  while  he  waited  he 
chewed  tobacco  incessantly,  and  ruminated  upon  the 
mystery  which  lay  behind  the  few  words  Val  had  first 
spoken,  before  she  realized  just  what  it  was  she  was  saying. 

After  a  long,  long  while  —  so  long  that  even  Polycarp's 
patience  was  feeling  the  strain  —  Val  opened  the  door 
and  stood  leaning  weakly  against  the  casing.  Her  throat 
was  swathed  in  a  piece  of  white  silk. 

"I  wish,  Polycarp,  you  'd  get  the  team  and  hitch  it 
to  the  light  rig,"  she  said.  "I  want  to  go  to  town,  and 
I  don't  feel  able  to  drive.  Can  you  take  me  in?  Can 
you  spare  the  time?  " 

"Why,  certainly,  I  c'n  take  you  in,  Mis'  Fleetwood. 
I  was  jest  thinkin'  it  wa'n't  safe  for  you  out  here  — " 

"It  is  perfectly  safe,"  Val  interrupted  chillingly.  "I 
am  going  because  I  want  to  see  ArUne  Hawley."  She 
raised  her  hand  to  the  bandage.  "I  have  a  sore  throat," 
she  stated,  staring  hard  at  him.  Then,  with  one  of  her 
impulsive  changes,  she  smiled  wistfully. 


284  LONESOME    LAND 

"You'll  be  my  friend,  Polycarp,  won't  you?"  she 
pleaded.  "I  can  trust  you,  I  know,  with  my  —  secret. 
It  is  a  secret  —  it  must  be  a  secret!  I'll  tell  you  the 
truth,  Polycarp.  It  was  Manley  —  he  had  been  drinking 
again.  He  —  we  had  a  quarrel  —  about  something.  He 
did  n't  know  what  he  was  doing  —  he  did  n't  mean  to 
hurt  me.  But  I  fell  —  I  struck  my  head;  see,  there  is  a 
great  lump  there."  She  pushed  back  her  hair  to  show 
him  the  place.  "So  it's  a  secret  —  just  between  you 
and  me,  Polycarp  Jenks!" 

"Why,  certainly.  Mis'  Fleetwood;  don't  you  be  the 
least  mite  oneasy;  I  'm  your  friend  —  I  always  have 
been.  A  feller  ain't  to  be  held  responsible  when  he 's 
drinkin'  —  by  granny,  that 's  a  fact,  he  ain't." 

"No,"  Val  agreed  laconically,  "I  suppose  not.  Let 
us  go,  then,  as  soon  as  we  can,  please.  I  '11  stay  overnight 
with  Mrs.  Hawley,  and  you  can  bring  me  back  to-morrow, 
can't  you?  And  you  '11  remember  not  to  mention  —  any- 
thing, won't  you,  Polycarp?" 

Polycarp  stood  very  straight  and  dignified. 

"I  hope.  Mis'  Fleetwood,  you  can  always  depend  on 
Polycarp  Jenks,"  he  replied  virtuously.  "Your  secret 
is  safe  with  me." 

Val  smiled  —  somewhat  doubtfully,  it  is  true  —  and 
let  him  go.  "Maybe  it  is  —  I  hope  so,"  she  sighed,  as 
she  turned  away  to  dress  for  the  trip. 


VAL    DECIDES  285 

All  through  that  long  ride  to  town,  Polycarp  talked 
and  talked  and  talked.  He  made  surmises  and  waited 
openly  to  hear  them  confirmed  or  denied;  he  gave  her 
advice;  he  told  her  everything  he  had  ever  heard  about 
Manley,  or  had  seen  or  knew  from  some  other  source; 
everything,  that  is,  save  what  was  good.  The  sums  he 
had  lost  at  poker,  or  had  borrowed;  the  debts  he  owed 
to  the  merchants;  the  reputation  he  had  for  "talking 
big  and  doing  little;"  the  trouble  he  had  had  with  this 
man  and  that  man;  and  what  he  did  not  know  for  a  cer- 
tainty he  guessed  at,  and  so  kept  the  subject  alive. 

True,  Val  did  not  speak  at  all,  except  when  he  asked 
her  how  she  felt.  Then  she  would  reply  dully,  "Pretty 
well,  thank  you,  Polycarp."  Invariably  those  were  the 
words  she  used.  Whenever  he  stole  a  furtive,  sidelong 
glance  at  her,  she  was  staring  straight  ahead  at  the  great, 
undulating  prairie  with  the  brown  ribbon,  which  was  the 
trail,  thrown  carelessly  across  to  the  sky  line. 

Polycarp  suspected  that  she  did  not  see  anything  — 
she  just  stared  with  her  eyes,  while  her  thoughts  were 
somewhere  else.  He  was  not  even  sure  that  she  heard 
what  he  was  saying.  He  thought  she  must  be  pretty 
sick,  she  was  so  pale,  and  she  had  such  wide,  purple  rings 
under  her  eyes.  Also,  he  rather  resented  her  desire  to 
keep  her  trouble  a  secret;  he  favored  telling  everybody, 
and  organizing  a  party  to  go  out  and  run  Man  Fleetwood 


286  LONESOME    LAND 

out  of  the  country,  as  the  very  mildest  rebuke  which  the 
outraged  community  could  give  and  remain  self-respecting. 
He  even  fell  silent  during  the  last  three  or  four  miles, 
while  he  dwelt  longingly  upon  the  keen  pleasure  there 
would  be  in  leading  such  an  expedition. 

"You'll  remember,  Polycarp,  not  to  speak  of  this?" 
Val  urged  abruptly  when  he  drew  up  before  the  Hawley 
Hotel.  "Not  a  hint,  you  know  until  —  until  I  give  you 
permission.    You  promised." 

"Oh,  certainly,  Mis'  Fleetwood.  Certainly.  Don't 
you  be  a  mite  oneasy."  But  the  tone  of  Polycarp  was 
dejected  in  the  extreme. 

"And  please  be  ready  to  drive  me  back  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  should  like  to  be  at  the  ranch  by  noon,  at  the 
latest."    With  that  she  left  him  and  went  into  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A    FRIEND   IN   NEED 

AND  so/'  Val  finished,  rather  apathetically,  pushing 
back  the  fallen  lock  of  hair,  "  it  has  come  to  that. 
I  can't  remain  here  and  keep  any  shred  of  self-respect. 
All  my  life  I  Ve  been  taught  to  believe  divorce  a  terrible 
thing  —  a  crime,  almost;  now  I  think  it  is  sometimes  a 
crime  not  to  be  divorced.  For  months  I  have  been  coming 
slowly  to  a  decision,  so  this  is  really  not  as  sudden  as  it 
may  seem  to  you.  It  is  humiliating  to  be  compelled  to 
borrow  money  —  but  I  would  much  rather  ask  you  than 
any  of  my  own  people.  My  pride  is  going  to  suffer  enough 
when  I  meet  them,  as  it  is;  I  can't  let  them  know  just 
how  miserable  and  sordid  a  failure  — " 

Arline  gave  an  inarticulate  snort,  bent  her  scrawny 
body  nearly  double,  and  reached  frankly  into  her  stock- 
ing. She  fumbled  there  a  moment  and  straightened 
triumphantly,  grasping  a  flat,  buckskin  bag. 

"I  'd  feel  like  shakin'  you  if  you  went  to  anybody  else 
but  me,"  she  declared,  untying  the  bag.  "I  know  what 
men  is  —  Lord  knows  I  see  enough  of  'em  and  their 
meanness  —  and  if  I  can  help  a  woman  outa  the  clutches 


288  LONESOME    LAND 

of  one,  I  'm  tickled  to  death  to  git  the  chancet.  I  ain't 
sayin'  they  're  all  of  'em  bad  —  I  c'n  afford  to  give  the 
devil  his  due  and  still  say  that  men  is  the  limit.  The 
good  ones  is  so  durn  scarce  it  ain't  one  woman  in  fifty 
lucky  enough  to  git  one.  All  I  blame  you  for  is  stayin' 
with  him  as  long  as  you  have.  I  'd  of  quit  long  ago;  I 
was  beginnin'  to  think  you  never  would  come  to  your 
senses.  But  you  had  to  fight  that  thing  out  for  yourself; 
every  woman  has  to. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  've  woke  up  to  the  fact  that  Man 
Fleetwood  did  n't  git  a  deed  to  you,  body  and  soul,  when 
he  married  you;  you  've  been  actin'  as  if  you  thought 
he  had.  And  I  'm  glad  you  've  got  sense  enough  to  pull 
outa  the  game  when  you  know  the  best  you  can  expect 
is  the  worst  of  it.  There  ain't  no  hope  for  Man  Fleetwood; 
I  seen  that  when  he  went  back  to  drinkin'  again  after  you 
was  burnt  out.  I  did  think  that  would  steady  him  down, 
but  he  ain't  the  kind  that  braces  up  when  trouble  hits 
him  —  he  's  the  sort  that  stays  down  ruther  than  go  to 
the  trouble  of  gittin'  up.  He  's  hopeless  now  as  a  rotten 
egg,  and  has  been  for  the  last  year.  Here;  you  take  the 
hull  works,  and  if  you  need  more,  I  can  easy  git  it  for  you 
by  sendin'  in  to  the  bank." 

"Oh,  but  this  is  too  much!"  Val  protested  when  she 
had  counted  the  money.  "You  're  so  good  —  but  really 
and  truly,  I  won't  need  half  —  "    • 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED  289 

Arline  pushed  away  the  proffered  money  impatiently. 
"How'n  time  are  you  goin'  to  tell  how  much  you  '11  need? 
Lemme  tell  you,  Val  Peyson  —  I  ain't  goin'  to  call  you  by 
his  name  no  more,  the  dirty  cur!  —  I  Ve  been  packin' 
that  money  in  my  stockin'  for  six  months,  jest  so  'st  to 
have  it  handy  when  you  wanted  it.  Divorces  cost  more  'n 
marriage  Hcenses,  as  you  11  find  out  when  you  git  started. 
And—" 

"You  —  why,  the  idea!"  Val  pursed  her  lips  with 
something  like  her  old  spirit.  "How  could  you  know 
I  'd  need  to  borrow  money?  I  did  n't  know  it  myself, 
even.    I  — " 

"Well,  I  c'n  see  through  a  wall  when  there  's  a  knothole 
in  it,"  paraphrased  Arline  calmly.  "You  may  not  know 
it,  but  you  Ve  been  gittin'  your  back-East  notions  knocked 
outa  you  pretty  fast  the  last  year  or  so.  It  was  all  a 
question  of  what  kinda  stuff  you  was  made  of  under- 
neath. You  c'n  put  a  polish  on  most  anything,  so  I 
could  n't  tell,  right  at  first,  what  there  was  to  you.  But 
you  're  all  right  —  I  've  seen  that  a  long  time  back;  and 
so  I  knowed  durn  well  you  'd  be  wantin'  money  to  pull 
loose  with.  It  takes  money,  though  I  know  it  ain't  polite 
to  say  much  about  real  dollars  'n'  cents.  You  '11  likely 
use  every  cent  of  that  before  you  're  through  with  the 
deal  —  and  remember,  there  's  a  lot  more  growin'  on  the 
same  bush,  if  you  need  it.    It 's  only  waitin'  to  be  picked." 


290  LONESOME    LAND 

Val  stared,  found  her  eyes  blurring  so  that  she  could 
not  see,  and  with  a  sudden,  impulsive  movement  leaned 
over  and  put  her  arms  around  Arline,  unkempt,  scrawny, 
and  wholly  unlovely  though  she  was. 

"Arline,  you're  an  angel  of  goodness!"  she  cried 
brokenly.  "You  're  the  best  friend  I  ever  had  in  my 
life  —  I  Ve  had  many  who  petted  me  and  flattered  me  — 
but  you  —  you  do  things!  I'm  ashamed  —  because  I 
haven't  loved  you  every  minute  since  I  first  saw  you. 
I  judged  you  —  I  mean  —  oh,  you  're  pure,  shining  gold 
inside,  instead  of — " 

"Oh,  git  out!"  Ariine  was  compelled  to  gulp  twice 
before  she  could  say  even  that  much.  "I  don't  shine 
nowhere  —  inside  er  out.  I  know  that  well  enough.  I 
never  had  no  chancet  to  shine.  It 's  always  been  wore 
off  with  hard  knocks.  But  I  like  shiny  folks  all  right  — 
when  they  're  fine  clear  through,  and  — " 

"Arline  —  dear,  I  do  love  you.    I  always  shall.    I — " 

Arline  loosened  her  clasp  and  jumped  up  precipitately. 

"Git  out!"  she  repeated  bashfully.  "If  you  git  me 
to  cryin',  Val  Peyson,  I  '11  wish  you  was  in  Halifax.  You 
go  to  bed,  'n'  go  to  sleep,  er  I'll — "  She  almost  ran 
from  the  room.  Outside,  she  stopped  in  a  darkened  cor- 
ner of  the  hallway  and  stood  for  some  minutes  with  her 
checked  gingham  apron  pressed  tightly  over  her  face,  and 
several  times  she  sniffed  audibly.    When  she  finally  re- 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED  291 

turned  to  the  kitchen  her  nose  was  pink,  her  eyelids  were 
pink,  and  she  was  extremely  petulant  when  she  caught 
Minnie  eying  her  curiously. 

Val  had  refused  to  eat  any  supper,  and,  beyond  telling 
Arline  that  she  had  decided  to  leave  Manley  and  return 
to  her  mother  in  Fern  Hill,  she  had  not  explained  any- 
thing very  clearly  —  her  colorless  face,  for  instance,  nor 
her  tightly  swathed  throat,  nor  the  very  noticeable  bruise 
upon  her  temple. 

Arline  had  not  asked  a  single  question.  Now,  however, 
she  spent  some  time  fixing  a  tray  with  the  daintiest  food 
she  knew  and  could  procure,  and  took  it  upstairs  with 
a  certain  diffidence  in  her  manner  and  a  rare  tenderness 
in  her  faded,  worldly-wise  eyes. 

"You  got  to  eat,  you  know,"  she  reminded  Val  gently. 
"You  *re  bucking  up  ag'inst  the  hardest  part  of  the  trail, 
and  grub  's  a  necessity.  Take  it  like  you  would  medicine 
—  unless  your  throat 's  too  sore.  I  see  you  got  it  all 
tied  up." 

Val  raised  her  hands  in  a  swift  alarm  and  clasped  her 
throat  as  if  she  feared  Arline  would  remove  the  bandages. 

"Oh,  it's  not  sore  —  that  is,  it  is  sore  —  I  mean  not 
very  much,"  she  stammered  betrayingly. 

Arline  set  down  the  tray  upon  the  dresser  and  faced 
Val  grimly. 

"I  never  asked  you  any  questions,  did  I?"  she  de- 


292  LONESOME    LAND 

manded.  "But  you  act  for  all  the  world  as  if  —  do  you 
want  me  to  give  a  guess  about  that  tied-up  neck,  and  that 
black  'n*  blue  lump  on  your  forehead?  I  never  asked 
any  questions  —  I  did  n't  need  to.  Man  Fleetwood 's 
been  maulin'  you  around.  I  was  kinda  afraid  he  'd  git 
to  that  point  some  day  when  he  got  mad  enough;  he  's 
just  the  brand  to  beat  up  a  woman.  But  if  it  took  a 
beatin'  to  bring  you  to  the  quitting  point,  I  'm  glad  he 
done  it.  Onlyy"  she  added  darkly,  "he  better  keep  outa 
my  reach;  I  'm  jest  in  the  humor  to  claw  him  up  some  if 
I  should  git  close  enough.  And  if  I  happened  to  forget 
I  'm  a  lady,  I  'd  sure  bawl  him  out,  and  the  bigger  crowd 
heard  me  the  better.  Now,  you  eat  this — and  don't  get 
the  idee  you  can  cover  up  any  meanness  of  Man  Fleet- 
wood's; not  from  me,  anyhow.  I  know  men  better 'n  you 
do;  you  could  n't  tell  me  nothing  about  'em  that  would 
su'prise  me  the  least  bit.  I  'm  only  thankful  he  did  n't 
murder  you  in  cold  blood.    Are  you  going  to  eat?" 

"Not  if  you  keep  on  reminding  me  of  such  h-horrid 
things,"  wailed  Val,  and  sobbed  into  her  pillow.  "It 's 
bad  enough  to  —  to  have  him  ch-choke  me  without 
having  you  t-talk  about  it  all  the  time!" 

"Now,  honey,  don't  you  waste  no  tears  on  a  brute  like 
him  —  he  ain't  w-worth  it!"  Arline  was  on  her  bony 
knees  beside  the  bed,  crying  with  sympathy  and  self- 
reproach. 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED  293 

So,  in  truly  feminine  fashion,  the  two  wept  their  way- 
back  to  the  solid  ground  of  everyday  hving.  Before  they 
reached  that  desirable  state  of  composure,  however,  Val 
told  her  everything  —  within  certain  limits  set  not  by 
caution,  but  rather  by  her  woman's  instinct.  She  did 
not,  for  instance,  say  much  about  Kent,  though  she 
regretted  openly  that  Polycarp  knew  so  much  about  it. 

"Hope  never  needed  no  newspaper  so  long  as  Polycarp 
lives  here,"  Arline  grumbled  when  Val  was  sitting  up 
again  and  trying  to  eat  Arline's  toast,  and  jelly  made  of 
buffalo  berries,  and  sipping  the  tea  which  had  gone  cold. 
''But  if  I  can  round  him  up  in  time,  I  '11  try  and  git  him 
to  keep  his  mouth  shet.  I  '11  scare  the  liver  outa  him 
some  way.  But  if  he  caught  onto  that  calf  deal  — "  She 
shook  her  head  doubtfully.  "The  worst  of  it  is,  Fred  's 
in  town,  and  he  's  always  pumpin'  Polycarp  dry,  jest  to 
find  out  all  that 's  goin'  on.  You  go  to  bed,  and  I  '11  see 
if  I  can  find  out  whether  they  're  together.  If  they  are  — 
but  you  need  n't  to  worry  none.  I  reckon  I  'm  a  match 
for  the  both  of  'em.  Why,  I  'd  dope  their  coffee  and  send 
'em  both  to  sleep  till  Man  got  outa  the  country,  if  I 
had  to!" 

She  stood  with  her  hands  upon  her  angular  hips  and 
glared  at  Val. 

"I  sure  would  do  that  very  thing  —  for  you,''  she  re- 
iterated solemnly.    "  I  don't  purtend  I  'd  do  it  for  Man  — 


294  LONESOME    LAND 

but  I  would  for  you.  But  it 's  likely  Kent  has  fixed  things 
up  so  they  can't  git  nothing  on  Man  if  they  try.  He 
would  if  he  said  he  would;  that  there  's  one  feller  that 's 
on  the  square.  You  go  to  bed  now,  whilst  I  go  on  a  still 
hunt  of  my  own.  1 11  come  and  tell  you  if  there  *s  any- 
thing to  tell." 

It  was  easy  enough  to  make  the  promise,  but  keeping 
it  was  so  difficult  that  she  yielded  to  the  temptation  of 
going  to  bed  and  letting  Val  sleep  in  peace;  which  she 
could  not  have  done  if  she  had  known  that  Polycarp 
Jenks  and  Fred  De  Garmo  left  town  on  horseback  within 
an  hour  after  Polycarp  had  entered  it,  and  that  they  told 
no  man  their  errand. 

Over  behind  Brinberg's  store,  Polycarp  had  told  Fred 
all  he  knew,  all  he  suspected,  and  all  he  believed  would 
come  to  pass.  "Strictly  on  the  quiet,"  of  course  —  he  re- 
minded Fred  of  that,  over  and  over,  because  he  had  prom- 
ised Mrs.  Fleetwood  that  he  would  not  mention  it. 

"But,  by  granny,"  he  apologized,  "I  didn't  like  the 
idee  of  keepin'  a  thing  like  that  from  you;  it  would  kinda 
look  as  if  I  was  standin'  in  on  the  deal,  which  I  ain't. 
Nobody  can't  accuse  me  of  rustlin',  no  matter  what  else 
I  might  do;  you  know  that,  Fred." 

"Sure,  I  know  you  're  honest,  anyway,"  Fred  responded 
quite  sincerely. 

"Well,  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  tell  you.    I've  kinda 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED  295 

had  my  suspicions  all  fall,  that  there  was  somethin*  scaly 
goin'  on  at  Cold  Spring.  Looked  to  me  like  Man  had 
too  blamed  many  calves  missed  by  spring  round-up  — 
for  the  size  of  his  herd.  I  dunno,  of  course,  jest  where 
he  gits  'em  —  you  '11  have  to  find  that  out.  But  he  's  brung 
twelve  er  fourteen  to  the  ranch,  two  er  three  at  a  time. 
And  what  she  said  when  she  first  come  to  —  told  me 
right  out,  by  granny,  'at  Man  choked  her  because  she 
called  'im  a  thief,  and  somethin'  about  a  cow  comin'  an' 
claimin'  her  calf,  and  her  turnin'  it  out.  That  oughta  be 
might'  nigh  all  the  evidence  you  need,  Fred,  if  you  find 
it.  She  don't  know  she  said  it,  but  she  would  n't  of  told 
it,  by  granny,  if  it  was  n't  so  —  now  would  she?" 

"And  you  say  all  this  happened  to-day?"  Fred  pon- 
dered for  a  minute.  "That's  queer,  because  I  almost 
caught  a  fellow  last  night  doing  some  funny  work  on  a 
calf.  A  Wishbone  cow  it  was,  and  her  calf  fresh  burned 
—  a  barred-out  brand,  by  thunder!  If  it  was  to-day,  I  'd 
say  Man  found  it  and  blotched  the  brand.  I  wish  now 
I  'd  hazed  them  over  to  the  Double  Diamond  and  corralled 
'em,  like  I  had  a  mind  to.  But  we  can  find  them,  easy 
enough.  But  that  was  last  night,  and  you  say  this  big 
setting  came  off  to-day;  you  sure,  Polly?" 

"  'Course  I  'm  sure."  Poly  carp  waggled  his  head 
solemnly.  He  was  enjoying  himself  to  the  limit.  He  was 
the  man  on  the  inside,  giving  out  information  of  the  greatest 


296  LONESOME    LAND 

importance,  and  an  officer  of  the  law  was  hanging  anx- 
iously upon  his  words.  He  spoke  slowly,  giving  weight 
to  every  word.  "  I  rode  up  to  the  house  —  Man's  house  — 
somewhere  close  to  noon,  an'  there  she  was,  layin'  on  the 
kitchen  floor.  Did  n't  know  nothin',  an'  had  the  marks 
of  somebody's  fingers  on  'er  throat;  the  rest  of  her  neck  's 
so  white  they  showed  up,  by  granny,  like  —  like — " 
Polycarp  never  could  think  of  a  simile.  He  always  expec- 
torated in  such  an  emergency,  and  left  his  sentence  un- 
finished.   He  did  so  now,  and  Fred  cut  in  unfeelingly. 

"Never  mind  that  —  you  've  gone  over  it  half  a  dozen 
times.  You  say  it  was  to-day,  at  noon,  or  thereabouts. 
Man  must  have  done  it  when  he  found  out  she  'd  turned 
the  calf  loose  —  he  would  n't  unless  he  was  pretty  mad, 
and  scared.  He  isn't  cold-blooded  enough  to  wait  till 
he  'd  barred  out  the  brand,  and  then  go  home  and  choke 
his  wife.  He  did  n't  know  about  the  calf  till  to-day,  that 's 
a  cinch."  He  studied  the  matter  with  an  air  of  grave 
importance. 

"Polycarp,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I'm  going  to  need 
you.  We  've  got  to  find  that  bunch  of  cattle  —  it  ought 
to  be  easy  enough,  and  haze  'em  down  into  Man's  field 
where  his  bunch  of  calves  are  —  see?  Any  calf  that 's 
been  weaned  in  the  last  three  weeks  will  be  pretty  likely 
to  claim  its  mother;  and  if  he  's  got  any  calves  branded 
that  claim  cows  with  some  other  brand  —  well — "    He 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED  297 

threw  out  his  hands  in  a  comprehensive  gesture.  "That 's 
the  quickest  way  I  know  to  get  him,"  he  said.  "I  want 
a  witness  along,  and  some  help.  And  you,"  he  eyed 
Poly  carp  keenly,  "ain't  safe  running  around  town  loose. 
All  your  brains  seem  to  leak  out  your  mouth.  So  you 
come  along  with  me." 

"Well  —  any  time  after  to-morrer,"  hedged  Polycarp, 
offended  by  the  implication  that  he  talked  too  much. 
"I  Ve  got  to  drive  the  team  home  for  Mis*  Fleetwood 
to-morrer.    I  toY  her  I  would  — " 

"Well,  you  won't.  You  're  going  to  hit  the  trail  with 
me  just  as  soon  as  I  can  find  a  horse  for  you  to  ride.  We  'II 
sleep  at  the  Double  Diamond,  and  start  from  there  in 
the  morning.  And  if  I  catch  you  letting  a  word  outa 
you  about  this  deal,  I  '11  just  about  have  to  arrest  you 
for  — "  He  did  not  quite  know  what,  but  the  very  vague- 
ness of  the  threat  had  its  effect  upon  Polycarp. 

He  went  without  further  argument,  though  first  he 
went  to  the  Hawley  Hotel  —  with  Fred  close  beside  him 
as  a  precaution  against  imprudent  gossip  —  and  left  word 
in  the  office  that  he  would  not  be  able  to  drive  Mrs.  Fleet- 
wood home,  the  next  morning,  but  would  be  back  to  take 
her  out  the  day  after  that,  if  she  did  not  mind  staying 
in  town.  It  was  that  message  which  Arline  deliberately 
held  back  from  Val  until  morning. 

"You  better  stay  here,"  she  advised  then.    "Polycarp 


298  LONESOME    LAND 

an'  Fred  's  up  to  some  devilment,  that 's  a  cinch;  but 
whatever  it  is,  you  *re  better  off  right  here  with  me. 
S'posen  you  should  drive  out  there  and  run  into  Man  -^ 
what  then?" 

Val  shivered.  "I  —  that 's  the  only  thing  I  can't  bear," 
she  admitted,  as  if  the  time  for  proud  dignity  and  reserve 
had  gone  by.  "  If  I  could  be  sure  I  would  n't  need  to 
meet  him,  I  'd  rather  go  alone;  really  and  truly,  I  would. 
You  know  the  horses  are  perfectly  safe  —  I  Ve  driven 
them  to  town  fifty  times  if  I  have  once.  I  had  to,  out 
there  alone  so  much  of  the  time.  I  'd  rather  not  have 
Polycarp  spying  around.  I  Ve  got  to  pack  up  —  there 
are  so  many  things  of  no  value  to  —  to  him,  things  I 
brought  out  here  with  me.  And  there  are  all  my  manu- 
scripts; I  can't  leave  them  lying  around,  even  if  they 
are  n't  worth  anything;  especially  since  they  are  n't 
worth  anything."  She  pushed  back  her  hair  with  a  weary 
movement.  "  If  I  could  only  be  sure  —  if  I  knew  where 
he  is,"  she  sighed. 

"  I  '11  lend  you  my  gun,"  Arline  offered  in  good  faith. 
"If  he  comes  around  you  and  starts  any  funny  business 
again,  you  can  stand  him  off,  even  if  you  got  some  delicate 
feelin's  about  blowin'  his  brains  out." 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't.  I  'm  deadly  afraid  of  guns."  Val 
shuddered. 

"Well,  then  you  can't  go  alone.    I  'd  go  with  you,  if 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED  299 

you  could  git  packed  up  so  as  to  come  back  to-day.  I 
guess  Min  could  make  out  to  git  two  meals  alone." 

"Oh,  no.  Really  and  truly,  Arline,  I  'd  just  as  soon 
go  alone.   I  would  rather,  dear. ^ ' 

Arline  was  not  accustomed  to  being  called  "dear."  She 
surrendered  with  some  confusion  and  a  blush. 

"Well,  you  better  wait,"  she  admonished  temporiz- 
ingly.     "Something  may  turn  up." 

Presently  something  did  turn  up.  She  rushed  breath- 
lessly into  Val's  room  and  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"Now  *s  your  chancet,  Val,"  she  hissed  in  a  loud  whis- 
per. "Man  jest  now  rode  into  town;  he  *s  over  in  Pop's 
place  —  I  seen  him  go  in.  He  's  good  for  the  day,  sure. 
I  '11  have  Hank  hitch  right  up,  an'  you  can  go  down  to 
the  stable  and  start  from  there,  so  'st  he  won't  see  you. 
An'  I  '11  keep  an  eye  out,  'n'  if  he  leaves  town  I  won't  be 
fur  behind,  lemme  tell  you.  He  won't,  though;  there  ain't 
one  chancet  in  a  hundred  he  '11  leave  that  saloon  till  he 's 
full  —  an'  if  he  tries  t'  go  then,  I  '11  have  somebody  lock 
'im  up  in  the  ice  house  till  you  git  back.  You  want  to 
hurry  up  that  packin',  an'  git  in  here  quick  's  you  can." 

She  went  to  the  stable  with  Val,  her  apron  thrown 
over  her  head  for  want  of  a  hat.  When  Val  was  settling 
herself  in  the  seat,  Arline  caught  at  the  wheel. 

"Say!  How'n  time  you  goin'  to  git  your  trunks  loaded 
into  the  wagon?"  she  cried.    "You  can't  do  it  alone." 


300  LONESOME    LAND 

Val  pursed  her  lips;  she  had  not  thought  of  that. 

"But  Polycarp  will  come,  by  the  time  I  am  ready/* 
she  decided.  "You  couldn't  keep  him  away,  Arline; 
he  would  be  afraid  he  might  miss  something,  because  I 
suppose  ours  is  the  only  ranch  in  the  country  where  the 
wheels  aren't  turning  smoothly.  Polycarp  and  I  can 
manage." 

Hank,  grinning  under  his  ragged,  brown  mustache, 
handed  her  the  lines.  "I've  got  my  orders,"  he  told 
her  briefly.    "I  '11  watch  out  the  trail 's  kept  clear." 

"Oh,  thank  you.  I  've  so  many  good  friends,"  Val 
answered,  giving  him  a  smile  to  stir  his  sluggish  blood. 
"Good-bye,  Arline.  Don't  worry  about  me,  there's  a 
dear.  I  shall  not  be  back  before  to-morrow  night, 
probably." 

Both  Arline  and  Hank  stood  where  they  were  and 
watched  her  out  of  sight  before  they  turned  back  to  the 
sordid  tasks  which  made  up  their  lives. 

"She'll  make  it  —  she's  the  proper  stuff,"  Hank 
remarked,  and  lighted  his  pipe.  Arline,  for  a  wonder, 
sighed  and  said  nothing. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CAUGHT ! 

yi  FTER  two  nights  and  a  day  of  torment  unbearable, 
JLjL.  Kent  bolted  from  his  work,  which  would  have 
taken  him  that  day,  as  it  had  done  the  day  before,  in  a 
direction  opposite  to  that  which  his  mind  and  his  heart 
followed,  and  without  apology  or  explanation  to  his  fore- 
man rode  straight  to  Cold  Spring  Coulee.  He  had  no 
very  definite  plan,  except  to  see  Val.  He  did  not  even 
know  what  he  would  say  when  he  faced  her. 

Michael  was  steaming  from  nose  to  tail  when  he  stopped 
at  the  yard  gate,  which  shows  how  impatience  had  driven 
his  master.  Kent  glanced  quickly  around  the  place  as 
he  walked  up  the  narrow  path  to  the  house.  Nothing 
was  changed  in  the  slightest  particular,  as  far  as  he  could 
see,  and  he  realized  then  that  he  had  been  uneasy  as  well 
as  anxious.  Both  doors  were  closed,  so  that  he  was  obliged 
to  knock  before  Val  became  visible.  He  had  a  fleeting 
impression  of  extreme  caution  in  the  way  she  opened  the 
door  and  looked  out,  but  he  forgot  it  immediately  in  his 
joy  at  seeing  her. 


302  LONESOME    LAND 

"Oh,  it's  you.  Come  in,  and  —  you  won't  mind  if 
I  close  the  door?  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  the  victim  of  nerves, 
to-day.'' 

"Why?"  Kent  was  instantly  soHcitous.  "Has  any- 
thing happened  since  I  was  here? " 

Val  shook  her  head,  smiling  faintly.  "Nothing  that 
need  to  worry  yoUy  pal.  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  worries. 
I  want  to  be  cheered  up;  I  have  n't  laughed,  Kent,  for 
so  long  I  'm  afraid  my  facial  muscles  are  getting  stiff. 
Say  something  funny,  can't  you?" 

Kent  pushed  his  hat  far  back  on  his  head  and  sat  down 
upon  a  corner  of  the  table.  "  Such  is  life  in  the  far  West  — 
and  the  farther  West  you  go,  the  livelier — "  he  began 
to  declaim  dutifully. 

"The  livelier  it  gets.  Yes,  I  've  heard  that  a  million 
times,  I  believe.  I  can't  laugh  at  that;  I  never  did  think 
it  funny."  She  sighed,  and  twitched  her  shoulders  im- 
patiently because  of  it.  "I  see  you  brought  back  the 
glasses,"  she  remarked  inanely.  "You  certainly  weren't 
in  any  great  hurry,  were  you?" 

"Oh,  they  had  us  riding  over  east  of  the  home  ranch, 
hazing  in  some  outa  the  hills.  I  'm  supposed  to  be  over 
there  right  now  —  but  I  ain't.  I  expect  I  '11  get  the  can, 
all  right—" 

"If  you  're  going  away,  what  do  you  care?"  she  taunted. 

"H'm  —  sure,  what  do  I  care?"     He  eyed  her  from 


CAUGHT! 

under  his  brows  while  he  bent  to  light  a  match  upon  the 
sole  of  his  boot.  Val  had  long  ago  settled  his  compunctions 
about  smoking  in  her  presence.  "You  seem  to  be  all 
tore  up,  here,"  he  observed  irrelevantly.  "Cleaning 
house?" 

"Yes  —  cleaning  house."    Val  smiled  ambiguously. 

"Hubby  in  town?" 

"Yes  — he  went  in  yesterday,  and  hasn't  come  back 
yet." 

Kent  smoked  for  a  moment  meditatively.  "I  found 
that  calf,  all  right,"  he  informed  her  at  last.  "It  was 
too  late  to  ride  around  this  way  and  tell  you  that  night. 
So  you  need  n't  worry  any  more  about  that." 

"I'm  not  worrying  about  that."  Val  stooped  and 
picked  up  a  hairpin  from  the  floor,  and  twirled  it  absently 
in  her  fingers.  "I  don't  think  it  matters,  any  more. 
Yesterday  afternoon  Fred  De  Garmo  and  Polycarp  Jenks 
came  into  the  coulee  with  a  bunch  of  cattle,  and  turned 
all  the  calves  out  of  the  river  field  with  them;  and,  after 
a  little,  they  drove  the  whole  lot  of  them  away  somewhere 
—  over  that  way."  She  waved  a  slim  hand  to  the  west. 
"They  let  out  the  calves  in  the  corral,  too.  I  saw  them 
from  the  window,  but  I  did  n't  ask  them  any  questions. 
I  really  did  n't  need  to,  did  I?"  She  grazed  him  with  a 
glance.  "I  thought  perhaps  you  had  failed  to  find  that 
calf;    I  'm  glad  you  did,  though  —  so  it  was  n't  that 


LONESOME    LAND 

started  them  hunting  around  here  —  Polycarp  and  Fred, 
I  mean." 

Kent  looked  at  her  queerly.  Her  voice  was  without 
any  emotion  whatever,  as  if  the  subject  held  no  personal 
interest  for  her.  He  finished  his  cigarette  and  threw  the 
stub  out  into  the  yard  before  either  of  them  spoke  another 
word.  He  closed  the  door  again,  stood  there  for  a  minute 
making  up  his  mind,  and  went  slowly  over  to  where  she 
was  sitting  listlessly  in  a  chair,  her  hands  folded  loosely 
in  her  lap.  He  gripped  with  one  hand  the  chairback  and 
stared  down  at  her  high-piled,  yellow  hair. 

"How  long  do  you  think  I  'm  going  to  stand  around 
and  let  you  be  dragged  into  trouble  like  this?"  he  began 
abruptly.  "You  know  what  I  told  you  the  other  day  — 
I  could  say  the  same  thing  over  again,  and  a  lot  more; 
and  I  'd  mean  more  than  I  could  find  words  for.  Maybe 
you  can  stand  this  sort  of  thing  —  I  can't.  I  'm  not 
going  to  try.  If  you  're  bound  to  stick  to  that  —  that 
gentleman,  I'm  going  to  get  outa  the  country  where  I 
can't  see  you  killed  by  inches.  Every  time  I  come, 
you  're  a  little  bit  whiter,  and  a  little  bigger-eyed  —  I 
can't  stand  it,  I  tell  you! 

"You  were  n't  made  for  a  hell  like  you  're  living.  You 
were  meant  to  be  happy  —  and  I  was  meant  to  make  you 
happy.  Every  morning  when  I  open  my  eyes  —  do 
you  know  what  I  think?    I  think  it 's  another  day  we 


CAUGHT!  305 

oughta  be  happy  in,  you  and  me.''  He  took  her  suddenly 
by  the  shoulder  and  brought  her  up,  facing  him,  where 
he  could  look  into  her  eyes. 

"We  Ve  only  got  just  one  life  to  live,  Val!"  he  pleaded. 
"And  we  could  be  happy  together  —  I'd  stake  my  life 
on  that.  I  can't  go  on  forever  just  being  friends,  and 
eating  my  heart  out  for  you,  and  seeing  you  abused  —  and 
what  for?  Just  because  a  preacher  mumbled  some  words 
over  you  two!  Only  for  that,  you  wouldn't  stay  with 
him  over-night,  and  you  know  it!  Is  that  what  ought  to 
tie  two  human  beings  together  —  without  love,  or  even 
friendship?  You  hate  him;  you  can't  look  me  in  the 
eyes  and  say  you  don't.  And  he 's  tired  of  you.  Some 
other  woman  would  please  him  better.  And  I  could  make 
you  happy!" 

Val  broke  away  from  his  grasp,  and  retreated  until 
the  table  was  between  them.  Her  listlessness  was  a  thing 
forgotten.  She  was  panting  with  the  quick  beating  of 
her  heart. 

"Kent  —  don't,  pal!  You  mustn't  say  those  things 
—  it 's  wicked." 

"It's  true,"  he  cried  hotly.  "Can  you  look  at  me 
and  say  it  ain't  the  truth?" 

"You've  spoiled  our  friendship,  Kent!"  she  accused, 
while  she  evaded  his  question.  "It  meant  so  much  to 
me  —  just  your  dear,  good  friendship." 


306  LONESOME    LAND 

"My  love  could  mean  a  whole  lot  more,"  he  declared 
sturdily. 

"But  you  mustn't  say  those  things  —  you  mustn't 
feel  that  way,  Kent!" 

"Oh!"  He  laughed  grimly.  "Mustn't  I?  How  are 
you  going  to  stop  me?"  He  stared  hard  at  her,  his  face 
growing  slowly  rigid.  "  There  's  just  one  way  to  stop 
me  from  saying  such  wicked  things,"  he  told  her.  "You 
can  tell  me  you  don't  care  anything  about  me,  and  never 
could,  not  even  if  that  down-east  conscience  of  yours 
didn't  butt  into  the  game.  You  can  tell  me  that,  and 
swear  it 's  the  truth,  and  I  '11  leave  the  country.  I  '11 
go  so  far  you  '11  never  see  me  again,  so  I  '11  never  bother 
you  any  more.  I  can't  promise  I  '11  stop  loving  you  — 
but  for  my  own  sake  I  '11  sure  try  hard  enough."  He 
set  his  teeth  hard  together  and  stood  quiet,  watching 
her. 

Val  tried  to  answer  him.  Evidently  she  could  not  man- 
age her  voice,  for  he  saw  her  begin  softly  beating  her  lips 
with  her  fist,  fighting  to  get  back  her  self-control.  Once 
or  twice  he  had  seen  her  do  that,  when,  womanlike,  the 
tears  would  come  in  spite  of  her. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  go  a-away,"  she  articulated  at 
last,  with  a  hint  of  stubbornness. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?  I  can't  stay,  unless — " 
He  did  not  attempt  to  finish  the  sentence.     He  knew 


CAUGHT!  307 

there  was  no  need;  she  understood  well  enough  the 
alternative. 

For  long  minutes  she  did  not  speak,  because  she  could 
not.  Like  many  women,  she  fought  desperately  against 
the  tears  which  seemed  a  badge  of  her  femininity.  She 
sat  down  in  a  chair,  dropped  her  face  upon  her  folded 
arms,  and  bit  her  lips  until  they  were  sore.  Kent  took 
a  step  toward  her,  reconsidered,  and  went  over  to  the 
window,  where  he  stood  staring  moodily  out  until  she 
began  speaking.  Even  then,  he  did  not  turn  immediately 
toward  her. 

"You  need  n't  go,  Kent,"  she  said  with  some  semblance 
of  calm.  "Because  I  'm  going.  I  did  n't  tell  you  —  but 
I  'm  going  home.  I  'm  going  to  get  free,  by  the  same 
law  that  tied  me  to  him.  You  are  right — I  have  a  'down- 
east'  conscience.  I  think  I  was  born  with  it.  It  demands 
that  I  get  my  freedom  honestly;  I  can't  steal  it  —  pal. 
I  could  n't  be  happy  if  I  did  that,  no  matter  how  hard 
I  might  try  —  or  you." 

He  turned  eagerly  toward  her  then,  but  she  stopped 
him  with  a  gesture. 

"No  —  stay  where  you  are.  I  want  to  solve  my 
problem  and  —  and  leave  you  out  of  it;  you  're  a  com- 
plication, pal  —  when  you  talk  like  —  like  you  've  just 
been  talking.  It  makes  my  conscience  wonder  whether 
I  'm  honest  with  myself.    I  've  got  to  leave  you  out,  don't 


308  LONESOME    LAND 

you  see?  And  so,  leaving  you  out,  I  don't  feel  that  any 
woman  should  be  expected  to  go  on  like  I  'm  doing.  You 
don't  know  —  I  could  n't  tell  you  just  how  —  impossible 
—  this  marriage  of  mine  has  become.  The  day  after  — 
well,  yesterday  —  no,  the  day  before  yesterday  —  he 
came  home  and  found  out  —  what  I  'd  done.  He  —  I 
couldn't  stay  here,  after  that,  so — " 

"What  did  he  do?"  Kent  demanded  sharply.  "He 
did  n't  dare  to  lay  his  hands  on  you  —  did  he?    By  — " 

"Don't  swear,  Kent — I  hear  so  much  of  that  from  him!'* 
Val  smiled  curiously.  "  He  —  he  swore  at  me.  I  could  n't 
stay  with  him,  after  that  —  could  I,  dear?"  Whether 
she  really  meant  to  speak  that  last  word  or  not,  it  set 
Kent's  blood  dancing  so  that  he  forgot  to  urge  his  question 
farther.  He  took  two  eager  steps  toward  her,  and  she 
retreated  again  behind  the  table. 

"Kent,  don't!  How  can  I  tell  you  anything,  if  you 
won't  be  good?  "  She  waited  until  he  was  standing  rather 
sulkily  by  the  window  again.  "Anyway,  it  does  n't  mat- 
ter now  what  he  has  done.  I  am  going  to  leave  him. 
I  'm  going  to  get  a  divorce.  Not  even  the  strictest  'down- 
east'  conscience  could  demand  that  I  stay.  I  'm  perfectly 
at  ease  upon  that  point.  About  this  last  trouble  —  with 
the  calves  —  if  I  could  help  him,  I  would,  of  course.  But 
all  I  could  say  would  only  make  matters  worse  —  and 
I  'm  a  wretched  failure  at  lying.    I  can  help  him  more, 


CAUGHT!  309 

I  think,  by  going  away.  I  feel  certain  there  's  going  to 
be  trouble  over  those  calves.  Fred  De  Garmo  never 
would  have  come  down  here  and  driven  them  all  away, 
would  he,  unless  there  was  going  to  be  trouble?" 

"If  he  came  in  here  and  got  the  calves,  it  looks  as  if 
he  meant  business,  all  right."  Kent  frowned  absently 
at  the  white  window  curtain.  "IVe  seen  the  time," 
he  added  reflectively,  "when  I'd  be  all  broke  up  to 
have  Man  get  into  trouble.  We  used  to  be  pretty  good 
friends!" 

"A  year  ago  it  would  have  broken  my  heart,"  Val 
sighed.  "We  do  change  so!  I  can't  quite  understand 
why  I  should  feel  so  indifferent  about  it  now;  even  the 
other  day  it  was  terrible.  But  when  I  felt  his  fingers  —  " 
she  stopped  guiltily.  "He  seems  a  stranger  to  me  now. 
I  don't  even  hate  him  so  very  much.  I  don't  want  to 
meet  him,  though." 

"Neither  do  I."  But  there  was  a  different  meaning 
in  Kent's  tone.  "So  you  're  going  to  quit?"  He  looked 
at  her  thoughtfully.    "  You  '11  leave  your  address,  I  hope ! " 

"Oh,  yes."  Val's  voice  betrayed  some  inward  trepi- 
dation.   "I  'm  not  running  away;   I  'm  just  going." 

"I  see."  He  sighed,  impatient  at  the  restraint  she 
had  put  upon  him.  "That  don't  mean  you  won't  ever 
come  back,  does  it?  Or  that  the  trains  are  going  to  quit 
carrying  passengers  to  your  town?    Because  you  can't 


310  LONESOME    LAND 

always  keep  me  outa  your  'problem/  let  me  tell  you. 
Is  it  against  the  rules  to  ask  when  you  're  going  —  and 
how?'' 

"Just  as  soon  as  I  can  get  my  trunks  packed,  and 
Polycarp  —  or  somebody  —  comes  to  help  me  load  them 
into  the  spring  wagon.  I  promised  Arline  Hawley  I 
would  be  in  town  to-night.  I  don't  know,  though  —  I 
don't  seem  to  be  making  much  progress  with  my  packing." 
She  smiled  at  him  more  brightly.  "Let's  wade  ashore, 
pal,  and  get  to  work  instead  of  talking  about  things  better 
left  alone.  I  know  just  exactly  what  you  're  thinking 
—  and  I  'm  going  to  let  you  help  me,  instead  of  Polycarp. 
I  'm  frightfully  angry  with  him,  anyway.  He  promised 
me,  on  his  word  of  honor,  that  he  would  n't  mention  a 
thing  —  and  he  must  have  actually  hunted  for  a  chance 
to  tell !  He  did  n't  have  the  nerve  to  come  to  the  house 
yesterday,  when  he  was  here  with  Fred  —  perhaps  he 
won't  come  to-day,  after  all.  So  you  '11  have  to  help  me 
make  my  getaway,  pal." 

Kent  wavered.  "You  're  the  limit,  all  right,"  he  told 
her  after  a  period  of  hesitation.  "You  just  wait,  old 
girl,  till  you  get  that  conscience  of  yours  squared!  What 
shall  I  do?  I  can  pack  a  warbag  in  one  minute  and  three- 
quarters,  and  a  horse  in  five  minutes  —  provided  he  don't 
get  gay  and  pitch  the  pack  off  a  time  or  two,  and  some- 
body 's  around  to  help  throw  the  hitch.     Just  tell  me 


CAUGHT!  311 

where  to  start  in,  and  you  won't  be  able  to  see  me  for 
dust!" 

*'You  seem  in  a  frightful  hurry  to  have  me  go,"  Val 
complained,  laughing  nevertheless  with  the  nervous 
reaction.  "Packing  a  trunk  takes  time,  and  care,  and 
inteUigence." 

"Now  isn't  that  awful?"  Kent's  eyes  flared  with 
mirth,  all  the  more  pronounced  because  it  was  entirely 
superficial.  "Well,  you  take  the  time  and  care,  Mrs. 
Goodpacker,  and  I  '11  cheerfully  furnish  the  intelligence. 
This  goes,  I  reckon?"  He  squeezed  a  pink  cushion  into 
as  small  a  space  as  possible,  and  held  it  out  at  arm's 
length. 

"That  goes  —  to  Arline.  DonH  put  it  in  there!"  Val's 
laughter  was  not  far  from  hysteria.  Kent  was  pretending 
to  stuff  the  pink  cushion  into  her  hand  bag. 

"Better  take  it;  you  '11  — " 

The  front  door  was  pushed  violently  open  and  Manley 
almost  fell  into  the  room.  Val  gave  a  little,  inarticulate 
cry  and  shrank  back  against  the  wall  before  she  could 
recover  herself.  They  had  for  the  moment  forgotten 
Manley,  and  all  he  stood  for  in  the  way  of  heartbreak. 

A  strange-looking  Manley  he  was,  with  his  white  face 
and  staring,  bloodshot  eyes,  and  the  cruel,  animal  lines 
around  his  mouth.  Hardly  recognizable  to  one  who  had 
not  seen  him  since  three  or  four  years  before,  he  would 


Sn  LONESOME    LAND 

have  been.  He  stopped  short  just  over  the  threshold, 
and  glanced  suspiciously  from  one  to  the  other  before  he 
came  farther  into  the  room. 

"Dig  up  some  grub,  Val  —  in  a  bag,  so  I  can  cany  it 
on  horseback,"  he  commanded.  "And  a  blanket  — 
where  did  you  put  those  rifle  cartridges?"  He  hurried 
across  the  room  to  where  his  rifle  and  belt  hung  upon 
the  wall,  just  over  the  Httle,  homemade  bookcase.  "I 
had  a  couple  of  boxes  —  where  are  they?  "  He  snatched 
down  the  rifle,  took  the  belt,  and  began  buckling  it  around 
him  with  fumbling  fingers. 

Mechanically  Val  reached  upon  a  higher  shelf  and 
got  him  the  two  boxes  of  shells.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
curiously  upon  his  face. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  asked  him  as  he  tore  open 
a  box  and  began  pushing  the  shells,  one  by  one,  into  his 
belt. 

"Fred  De  Garmo  —  he  tried  to  arrest  me  —  in  town 
—  I  shot  him  dead."  He  glanced  furtively  at  Kent. 
"Can  I  take  your  horse,  Kent?  I  want  to  get  across  the 
river  before — " 

"  You  shot  —  Fred  —  "  Val  was  staring  at  him  stupidly. 
He  whirled  savagely  toward  her. 

"Yes,  and  I  'd  shoot  any  man  that  walked  up  and 
tried  to  take  me.  He  was  a  fool  if  he  thought  all  he  had 
to  do  was  crook  his  finger  and  say  Xome  along.'     It 


CAUGHT!  313 

was  over  those  calves  —  and  I  'd  say  you  had  a  hand 
in  it,  if  I  had  n't  found  that  calf,  and  saw  how  you  burned 
out  the  brand  before  you  turned  it  loose.  You  might 
have  told  me  —  I  wouldn't  have — "  He  shifted  his 
gaze  toward  Kent.  "The  hell  of  it  is,  the  sheriff  happened 
to  be  in  town  for  something;  he  's  back  a  couple  of  miles 
—  for  God's  sake,  move!  And  get  that  flour  and  bacon, 
and  some  matches.  I  've  got  to  get  across  the  river.  I 
can  shake  'em  off,  on  the  other  side.    Hurry,  Val!" 

She  went  out  into  the  kitchen,  and  they  heard  her  moving 
about,  collecting  the  things  he  needed. 

"I  '11  have  to  take  your  horse,  Kent."  Manley  turned 
to  him  with  a  certain  wheedling  tone,  infinitely  disgusting 
to  the  other.  "Mine  's  all  in  —  I  rode  him  down,  getting 
this  far.  I  've  got  to  get  across  the  river,  and  into  the 
hills  the  other  side  —  I  can  dodge  'em  over  there.  You 
can  have  my  horse  —  he 's  good  as  yours,  anyway." 
He  seemed  to  feel  a  slight  discomfort  at  Kent's  silence. 
"You've  always  stood  by  me  —  anyway,  it  wasn't  so 
much  my  fault  —  he  came  at  me  unawares,  and  says 
'Man  Fleetwood,  you're  my  prisoner!'  Why,  the  very 
tone  of  him  was  an  insult  —  and  I  won't  stand  for  being 
arrested  —  I  pulled  my  gun  and  got  him  through  the 
lungs  —  heard  'em  yelling  he  was  dead —  Hurry  up 
with  that  grub!    I  can't  wait  here  till — " 

"  I  ought  to  tell  you  Michael 's  no  good  for  water," 


314  LONESOME    LAND 

Kent  forced  himself  to  say.    "He's  liable  to  turn  back 
on  you;  he 's  scared  of  it." 

"He  won't  turn  back  with  me  —  not  with  old  Jake 
Bondy  at  my  heels!"  Manley  snatched  the  bag  of  pro- 
visions from  Val  when  she  appeared,  and  started  for  the 
door. 

"You  better  leave  off  some  of  that  hardware,  then," 
Kent  advised  perfunctorily.  "You're  Hable  to  have 
to  swim." 

"I  don't  care  how  I  get  across,  just  so — "  A  panic 
seemed  to  seize  him  then.  Without  a  word  of  thanks 
or  farewell  he  rushed  out,  threw  himself  into  Kent's 
saddle  without  taking  time  to  tie  on  his  bundle  of  bacon 
and  flour,  or  remembering  the  blanket  he  had  asked  for. 
Holding  his  provisions  under  his  arm,  his  rifle  in  one 
hand,  and  his  reins  clutched  in  the  other,  he  struck  the 
spurs  home  and  raced  down  the  coulee  toward  the  river. 
Fred  and  Polycarp  had  not  troubled  to  put  up  the  wire 
gate  after  emptying  the  river  field,  so  he  had  a  straight 
run  of  it  to  the  very  river  bank.  The  two  stood  together 
at  the  window  and  watched  him  go. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

RETRIBUTION 

"TTE  thought  it  was  I  burned  out  that  brand;  did 
JL  J.  you  notice  what  he  said?"  Val,  as  frequently 
happens  in  times  of  stress,  spoke  first  of  a  trivial  matter, 
before  her  mind  would  grasp  the  greater  issues. 

"He  '11  never  make  it,"  said  Kent,  speaking  involun- 
tarily his  thought.  "There  comes  old  Jake  Bondy,  now, 
down  the  hill.  Still,  I  dunno  —  if  Michael  takes  to  the 
water  all  right — " 

"  If  the  sheriff  comes  here,  what  shall  we  tell  him?  Shall 
we  — 

"He  won't.  He 's  turning  off,  don't  you  see?  He 
must  have  got  a  sight  of  Man  from  the  top  of  the  hill. 
Michael 's  tolerably  fresh,  and  Jake's  horse  is  n't;  that 
makes  a  big  difference." 

Val  weakened  imexpectedly,  as  the  full  meaning  of  it 
all  swept  through  her  mind. 

"Oh,  it's  horrible!"  she  whispered.  "Kent,  what  can 
we  do?" 

"Not  a  thing,  only  keep  our  heads,  and  don't  give 


316  LONESOME    LAND 

way  to  nerves,"  he  hinted.  "  It 's  something  out  of  our 
reach;   let 's  not  go  all  to  pieces  over  it,  pal." 

She  steadied  under  his  calm  voice. 

"I  'm  always  acting  fooHsh  just  at  the  wrong  time  — 
but  to  think  he  could  — " 

"Don't  think!  You'll  have  enough  of  that  to  do, 
managing  your  own  affairs.  All  this  does  n't  change 
a  thing  for  you.  It  makes  you  feel  bad  —  and  for  that 
I  could  kill  him,  almost!"  So  much  flashed  out,  and 
then  he  brought  himself  in  hand  again.  "You  Ve  still 
got  to  pack  your  trunks,  and  take  the  train  home,  just 
the  same  as  if  this  had  n't  happened.  I  did  n't  like  the 
idea  at  first,  but  now  I  see  it 's  the  best  thing  you  can 
do,  for  the  present.  After  awhile  —  we  '11  see  about  it. 
Don't  look  out,  if  it  upsets  you,  Val.  You  can't  do  any 
good,  and  you  've  got  to  save  your  nerves.  Let  me  pull 
down  the  shade  — " 

"Oh,  I've  got  to  see!"  Perversely,  she  caught  up 
the  field  glasses  from  the  table,  drew  them  from  their 
case,  and,  letting  down  the  upper  window  sash  with  a 
slam,  focused  the  glasses  upon  the  river.  "He  usually 
crosses  right  at  the  mouth  of  the  coulee  — "  She  swung 
the  glasses  slowly  about.  "Oh,  there  he  is  —  just  on 
the  bank.  The  river  looks  rather  high  —  oh,  your  horse 
does  n't  want  to  go  in,  Kent.  He  whirls  on  his  hind  feet, 
and  tried  to  bolt  when  Manley  started  in  — " 


RETRIBUTION  317 

Kent  had  been  watching  her  face  jealously.  "Here, 
let  me  take  a  look,  will  you?  I  can  tell  — "  She  yielded 
reluctantly,  and  in  a  moment  he  had  caught  the  focus. 

"Tell  me  what  you  see,  Kent  —  everything,"  she  begged, 
looking  anxiously  from  his  face  to  the  river. 

"Well,  old  Jake  is  fogging  along  down  the  coulee  — 
but  he  ain't  to  the  river  yet,  not  by  a  long  shot!  Ah-h! 
Man  *s  riding  back  to  take  a  run  in.  That 's  the  stuff  — 
got  MichaeFs  feet  wet  that  time,  the  old  freak!  They 
came  near  going  clean  outa  sight." 

"The  sheriff  —  is  he  close  enough — "  Val  began 
fearfully.    "Oh,  we  're  too  far  away  to  do  a  thing!" 

Kent  kept  his  eyes  to  the  glasses.  "We  couldn't  do 
a  thing  if  we  were  right  there.  Man  's  in  swimming 
water  already.  Jake  ain't  riding  in  —  from  the  motions 
he  's  ordering  Man  back." 

"Oh,  please  let  me  look  a  minute!  I  won't  get  excited, 
Kent,  and  I'll  tell  you  everything  I  see  —  please!" 
Val's  teeth  were  fairly  chattering  with  excitement,  so 
that  Kent  hesitated  before  he  gave  up  the  glasses.  But  it 
seemed  boorish  to  refuse.  She  snatched  at  them  as  he  took 
them  from  his  eyes,  and  placed  them  nervously  to  her  own. 

"Oh,  I  see  them  both!"  she  cried,  after  a  second  or  two. 
"The  sheriff  's  got  his  rijfle  in  his  hands  —  Kent,  do  you 
suppose  he  'd — " 

"Just  a  bluff,  pal.    They  all  do  it.    What—" 


318  LONESOME    LAND 

Val  gave  a  start.  "Oh,  he  shot,  Kent!  I  saw  him 
take  aim  —  it  looked  as  if  he  pointed  it  straight  at  Man- 
ley,  and  the  smoke — "  She  moved  the  glasses  slowly, 
searching  the  river. 

"Well,  he'd  have  to  be  a  dandy,  to  hit  anything  on 
the  water,  and  with  the  sun  in  his  eyes,  too,"  Kent  as- 
sured her,  hardly  taking  his  eyes  from  her  face  with  its 
varying  expression.  Almost  he  could  see  what  was  taking 
place  at  the  river,  just  by  watching  her. 

"Oh,  there  's  Manley,  away  out!  Why,  your  Michael  is 
swimming  beautifully,  Kent!  His  head  is  high  out  of  the 
water,  and  the  water  is  churning  like  —  Oh,  Manley  's 
holding  his  rifle  up  over  his  head  —  he  's  looking  back 
toward  shore.  I  wonder,"  she  added  softly,  "what  he  's 
thinking  about!  Manley!  you're  my  husband  —  and 
once  I  — " 

"Draw  a  bead  on  that  gazabo  on  shore,"  Kent  inter- 
rupted her  faint  flaring  up  of  sentiment  toward  the  man 
she  had  once  loved  and  loved  no  more. 

Val  drew  a  long  breath  and  turned  the  glasses  reluct- 
antly from  the  fugitive.  "I  don't  see  him  —  oh,  yes! 
He  's  down  beside  a  rock,  on  one  knee,  and  he  's  taking 
a  rest  across  the  rock,  and  is  squinting  along  —  oh,  he 
can't  hit  him  at  that  distance,  can  he,  Kent?  Would  he 
dare  —  why,  it  would  be  murder,  would  n't  it?  Oh-h  — 
he  shot  again  r* 


RETRIBUTION  319 

Kent  reached  up  a  hand  and  took  the  glasses  from 
her  eyes  with  a  masterful  gesture.  "You  let  me  look," 
he  said  laconically.    "I  'm  steadier  than  you." 

Val  crept  closer  to  him,  and  looked  up  into  his  face. 
She  could  read  nothing  there;  his  mouth  was  shut  tight 
so  that  it  was  a  stern,  straight  line,  but  that  told  her 
nothing.  He  always  looked  so  when  he  was  intent  upon 
something,  or  thinking  deeply.  She  turned  her  eyes 
toward  the  river,  flowing  smoothly  across  the  mouth 
of  the  coulee.  Between,  the  land  lay  sleeping  lazily  in 
the  hazy  sunlight  of  mid-autumn.  The  grass  was  brown, 
the  rocky  outcroppings  of  the  coulee  wall  yellow  and 
gray  and  red  —  and  the  river  was  so  blue,  and  so  quiet! 
Surely  that  sleepy  coulee  and  that  placid  river  could 
not  be  witnessing  a  tragedy.  She  turned  her  head,  irri- 
tated by  its  very  calmness.  Her  eyes  dwelt  wistfully 
upon  Kent 's  half -concealed  face. 

"What  are  they  doing  now,  Kent?"  Her  tone  was 
hushed. 

"I  can't  —  exactly — "  He  mumbled  absently,  his 
mind  a  mile  away.    She  waited  a  moment. 

"  Can  you  see  —  Manley ?  " 

This  time  he  did  not  answer  at  all;  he  seemed  terribly 
far  off,  as  if  only  his  shell  of  a  body  remained  with  her 
in  the  room. 

"Why  don't  you  talk?"  she  wailed.    She  waited  until 


320  LONESOME    LAND 

she  could  endure  no  more,  then  reached  up  and  snatched 
the  glasses  from  his  eyes. 

"  I  can't  help  it  —  I  shall  go  crazy  standing  here.  I  Ve 
just  got  to  see!"  she  panted. 

For  a  moment  he  clung  to  the  glasses  and  stared  down 
at  her.  "You  better  not,  sweetheart,"  he  urged  gently, 
but  when  she  still  held  fast  he  let  them  go.  She  raised  them 
hurriedly  to  her  eyes,  and  turned  to  the  river  with  a 
shrinking  impatience  to  know  the  worst  and  have  it 
over  with. 

"E-everything  j-joggles  so,"  she  whimpered  complain- 
ingly,  trying  vainly  to  steady  the  glasses.  He  slipped 
his  arms  around  her,  and  let  her  lean  against  him;  she 
did  not  even  seem  to  realize  it.  Just  then  she  had  caught 
sight  of  something,  and  her  intense  interest  steadied  her 
so  that  she  stood  perfectly  still. 

"Why,  your  horse — "  she  gasped.  "Michael  —  he's 
got  his  feet  straight  up  in  the  air  —  oh,  Kent,  he  's  rolling 
over  and  over!  I  can't  see  — "  She  held  her  breath. 
The  glasses  sagged  as  if  they  had  grown  all  at  once  too 
heavy  to  hold.  "I  —  I  thought  I  saw  — "  She  shivered 
and  hid  her  face  upon  one  upflung  arm. 

Kent  caught  up  the  glasses  and  looked  long  at  the 
river,  unmindful  of  the  girl  sobbing  wildly  beside  him. 
Finally  he  turned  to  her,  hesitated,  and  then  gathered  her 
close  in  his  arms.    The  glasses  slid  unheeded  to  the  floor. 


RETRIBUTION  321 

"Don't  cry  —  it's  better  this  way,  though  it's  hard 
enough,  God  knows."  His  voice  was  very  gentle.  "Think 
how  awful  it  would  have  been,  Val,  if  the  law  had  got 
him.  Don't  cry  like  that!  Such  things  are  happening 
every  day,  somewhere — "  He  realized  suddenly  that 
this  was  no  way  to  comfort  her,  and  stopped.  He  patted 
her  shoulder  with  a  sense  of  blank  helplessness.  He 
could  make  love  —  but  this  was  not  the  time  for  love- 
making;  and  since  he  was  denied  that  outlet  for  his 
feelings,  he  did  not  know  what  to  do,  except  that  he  led 
her  to  the  couch,  and  settled  her  among  the  cushions  so 
that  she  would  be  physically  comfortable,  at  least.  He 
turned  restlessly  to  the  window,  looked  out,  and  then 
went  to  the  couch  and  bent  over  her. 

"  I  'm  going  out  to  the  gate  —  I  want  to  see  Jake 
Bondy.  He  's  coming  up  the  coulee,"  he  said.  "I  won't 
be  far.  Poor  little  girl  —  poor  little  pal,  I  wish  I  could 
help  you."  He  touched  his  lips  to  her  hair,  so  lightly 
she  could  not  feel  it,  and  left  her. 

At  the  gate  he  met,  not  the  sheriff,  who  was  riding 
slowly,  and  had  just  passed  through  the  field  gate,  but 
Arline  and  Hank,  rattling  up  in  the  Hawley  buck- 
board. 

"Thank  the  good  Lord!"  he  exclaimed  when  he  helped 
her  from  the  rig.  "I  never  was  so  glad  to  see  anybody 
in  my  life.    Go  on  in  —  she  's  in  there  crying  her  heart 


32^  LONESOME    LAND 

out.  Man  's  dead  —  the  sheriff  shot  him  in  the  river  — 
oh,  there  's  been  hell  to  pay  out  here!" 

"My  heavens  above!"  Arline  stared  up  at  him  while 
she  grasped  the  significance  of  his  words.  "I  knowed 
he  'd  hit  for  here  —  I  followed  right  out  as  quick  as  Hank 
could  hitch  up  the  team.    Did  you  hear  about  Fred  — " 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  I  know  all  about  it!"  Kent  was  guilty 
of  pulling  her  through  the  gate,  and  then  pushing  her 
toward  the  house.  "You  go  and  do  something  for  that 
poor  girl.  Pack  her  up  and  take  her  to  town  as  quick  as 
God  '11  let  you.  There  's  been  misery  enough  for  her 
out  here  to  kill  a  dozen  women." 

He  watched  until  she  had  reached  the  porch,  and  then 
swung  back  to  Hank,  sitting  calmly  in  the  buckboard, 
with  the  lines  gripped  between  his  knees  while  he  filled 
his  pipe. 

"I  can  take  care  of  the  man's  side  of  this  business, 
fast  enough,"  Kent  confessed  whimsically,  "but  there's 
some  things  it  takes  a  woman  to  handle."  He  glanced 
again  over  his  shoulder,  gave  a  huge  sigh  of  relief  when 
he  glimpsed  Arline's  thin  face  as  she  passed  the  window 
and  knelt  beside  the  couch,  and  turned  with  a  lighter 
heart  to  meet  the  sheriff. 

THE  END 


E,  Phillips  Oppenheim  s  Newest  Novel 


PETEK  RUFF 
AND  THE  DOUBLE-FOUR 


Bt/  E.  PHILLIPS  OPPENHEIM 
Author  of  "Havoc,"  "The  Moving  Finger,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  Dalton  Stevens.     12mo.     $1.25  net 


Mr.  Oppenheim  is  at  his  best  when  dealing  with  the  plot 
and  counterplot  of  the  underground  politics  of  Europe.  The 
adventures  of  Peter  RufF,  who  first  establishes  himself  as  a  crime 
investigator  and  private  detective,  and  later  becomes  the  chief 
of  one  of  the  most  powerful  secret  societies  of  Europe  —  the 
"Double-Four" — will  appeal  to  all  lovers  of  the  Oppenheim 
type  of  fiction.  Peter  Ruff  is  one  of  Mr.  Oppenheim's  masterly 
character  creations.  Whether  Peter  is  outwitting  John  Dory, 
of  Scotland  Yard,  or  circumventing  the  bold  plans  of  Count 
von  Hern,  the  Austrian  spy,  he  is  cool,  shrewd  and  resourceful ; 
while  the  all-powerful  "  Double-Four "  is  one  of  the  most 
amazing  organizations  that  the  fertile  pen  of  Mr.  Oppenheim  has 
ever  invented.  Altogether,  the  book  is  one  which  should  delight 
this  popular  author's  increasing  number  of  American  readers. 

Readers  of  Mr.  Oppenheim's  novels  may  always  count  on  a 
story  of  absorbing  interest,  turning  on  a  complicated  plot, 
worked  out  with  dexterous  craftsmanship. 

— Literary  Digest ^  New  York. 


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Roman  Douhleday's  latest  mystery  story 


THE   SAINTSBURY 
AFFAIR 


By  ROMAN  DOUBLEDAY 

Author  of  "  The  Hemlock  Avenue  Mystery," 
"The  Red  House  on  Rowan  Street,"  etc. 

lUustrated  by  J.  V.  McFaU.     12mo.    $1.25  net. 


"  The  Saintsbury  Affair,"  is  a  cleverly  conceived  mystery 
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deals  with  the  first  murder  case  in  which  the  criminal  is  identi- 
fied by  the  print  of  his  teeth  on  an  apple.  But  it  does  not 
depend  for  its  interest  merely  on  its  suspense,  though  this  is 
excellently  held  to  the  end,  nor  on  its  puzzle,  though  this  is  so 
cleverly  contrived  as  to  baffle  the  reader's  curiosity.  It  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  mere  detective  story,  it  is  a  thrilling  romance 
with  a  strong  love  interest  and  a  charming  heroine,  all  told  with 
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"  one  of  the  most  remarkable  mysteries  in  recent  fiction." 

Mr.  Doubleday  has  the  ability  to  create  character,  a  talent 
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people  are  alive  and  convincing,  and  his  romance  carries  with  it 
a  very  pretty  love  story. —  New  York  World. 


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309  pages  of  grins 


AT  GOOD  OLD  SIWASH 


By  GEORGE  FITCH 
Capitally  illustrated.     12mo.     $1.25  neU 


309  pages  of  grins,  chuckles,  and  haw-haws.  Every  page 
is  a  toucndown.  —  Houston  Post. 

No  more  distinctively  American  humorous  work  has 
appeared  in  a  long  time. —  New  York  Times. 

A  book  worth  owning  and  reading  back  and  forth  and  both 
ways  from  the  middle. —  ^t.  Louis  Times. 

Men  who  have  taken  degrees  and  some  who  have  n't  say 
these  are  the  cleverest,  most  gingery  yarns  of  the  kind  pro- 
duced in  years.  —  New  York  Herald. 

Stories  as  full  of  humorous  diversion  as  their  author  is  of 
the  spirit  of  Young  America.  Written  around  the  adventures 
of  as  ingenious  a  set  of  young  reprobates  as  ever  made  life 
hideous  for  a  college  proctor,  they  have  caught  the  playtime 
side  of  college  life,  and  exhibited  it  in  a  way  at  once  sym- 
pathetic and  interestingly  funny.  .  .  .  Breezy,  clean  and  whole- 
some. —  New  York  Evening  Sun. 

"  Si  wash "...  certainly  has  a  lot  of  undergraduates  as 
frolicsome  as  ever  imitated  insanity.  The  amazing  and  amusing 
stunts  they  perform  in  the  wild  scramble  to  escape  from  learning 
anything  are  enough  to  make  the  Nine  Muses  weep  big  briny 
tears.  The  doings  of  the  Eta  Bita  Pie  Society  are  enough  to 
reconcile  the  most  chronic  grouch  to  the  continuance  of  the 
Greek  letter  frats.  —  Pittsburg  Gazette  Times. 


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By  the  author  of  "  The  Brass  Bowl 


THE  BANDBOX 


By  LOUIS   JOSEPH  VANCE 

Author  of  "The  Brass  Bowl,"  "The  Black  Bag," 
**Cynthia-of-the-Minute,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  Arthur  I.  Keller.     12mo.    $1.25  net. 


Louis  Joseph  Vance  has  written  a  half-dozen  or  so  notable 
successes,  but  we  venture  the  prediction  that  many,  many 
readers  will  call  his  new  story  absolutely  the  best  thing  he  has 
done.  "  The  Bandbox  "  is  another  rousing,  thrilling  story  of 
breathless  adventure  culminating  in  love,  told  with  characteristic 
swiftness  and  buoyant  humor  from  beginning  to  end.  Mr. 
Vance  possesses  that  happy  gift,  denied  to  most  of  us,  of  find- 
ing the  picturesque,  the  adventurous  and  the  romantic  among 
everyday  scenes  and  everyday  people. 

Opening  in  London,  where  a  mysterious  bandbox  is  left  on 
the  hands  of  a  puzzled  young  man,  the  action  quickly  moves  to 
New  York,  where  it  plunges  into  a  whirl  of  surprising  incidents 
that  almost  set  a  new  pace  for  story  writing.  There  is  a  scene 
on  a  lonely  island  that  would  do  credit  to  the  pen  of  a  Stevenson, 
together  with  other  strange  and  fascinating  situations. 

In  short,  "The  Bandbox"  is  one  of  those  delightful 
romances,  full  of  mystery  and  surprises,  of  dramatic  scenes  and 
rapid,  sweeping  action,  that  you  read  through  to  the  end  at  a 
sitting,  forgetful  of  time,  troubles,  or  tired  feelings,  and  then 
breathe  a  sigh  of  regret  because  there's  no  more. 


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University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

•  2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 
(510)642-6753 

•  1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing 
books  to  NRLF 

•  Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4 
days  prior  to  due  date. 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BElOW 

APR  2  4  2001 


AUG  fl  9  7002 


12,000(11/95) 


•U     O  /UHO  '^^rir^ 


/ 


M35651 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


